


caught in the burning glow

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Fight Club style violence, Foreign Languages, M/M, Minor Character Death, Patriotism, Sexual Content, The Losers inspired au, Violence, everyone is mean to Steve, heart problems, racial slurs against military, racial slurs against white people, real life situations involving babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“America is a poison we finally sucked out of our lives, and you want us to go back.  You want us to go somewhere that has a price on our heads, that will shoot on sight, that exiled us.  You want us to return to that?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes —
> 
> i. We were rewatching _The Losers_ the other day, and this just kind of _happened_. I had to pause the movie and start telling Erin about it, I was so excited.
> 
> ii. There is Spanish in here. I have never taken Spanish other than in middle school, so I really just know the basic numbers and a few phrases, so I got all of it from Google translate. I did do my best to arrange it so it actually made sense, and I think I got kind of close—I’ve taken Italian and French, as well as linguistics, not to mention creating my own language with a German base, so I have knowledge on the structure of languages—but please don’t yell at me if I got it wrong. I tried. On that note, there is also various other languages—Tony likes to learn things, and one of them happens to be Russian—which I know nothing about, so I did what I could. Most of the Russian is just me being snarky anyway. However, I have also included the translations in bold in parenthesis next to each instance, so there’s that, too.
> 
> iii. Guys, there are so many limbs in threesomes, holy _shit_. I am never doing this again, it’s like freaking math trying to keep track of whose mouth is doing what and whose hand just suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Though, while writing, Erin and I did go cross-eyed during our edits because _damn_ , threesomes are also really hot.
> 
> iv. Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m currently 27k words deep in this fic. I’m going to be posting chapters according to days, which means that some of the chapters will be quite lengthy. I write things as a oneshot because if I actually make them chapters, then I’ll never finish the fic, so it’s a psychological mindfuck for me. Anyway, the only way that really made sense to split this up—because it can’t be posted as one, there is way too much that goes on—was to do it in days.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it is. They fled to Cuba, letting Bruce lead them deeper and deeper until he was certain there were no longer SHIELD agents on their tail, and then they’d kept going until Tony was begging to stop, to just settle, and that’s how they’d ended up here, scrambling for jobs and squatting until they could afford to pay rent on a one-bedroom apartment that they shared

_New York_

 

Steve looks up as a crack echoes through the building, and he only half hears Tony say, “Cap, we gotta get out of here.”

 

“They think _we_ are responsible for the deaths at SHIELD, and now we’re _trapped_ here,” Natasha snaps back, looking toward the ceiling, as well.

 

“Would you rather we go back outside, where half of Manhattan is waiting to gun us down?”

 

“Stop it,” Steve says, sharply, casting a glance between them, “Just—be quiet.  Let me think.”

 

“There’s no _time_ ,” Tony says, the mask sliding down as the ceiling groans, “If we go out there, we won’t make it back to SHIELD.  All of my comms are down, and the Tower has been hacked.  We’re being framed from the inside, and—”  Tony drops back into a defensive stance, and Steve looks up at the same time that Hulk lets out a low growl and falls onto his knuckles.

 

“We need to get out of here,” Clint says, eyes darting around to find an escape, “We need to get out of the country, we need to go deep.”

 

“South America,” Hulk grumbles.

 

Steve looks between them, the planes of his face hard and sad.  He’s quiet until the ceiling groans and debris rains down on them.  “Steve, they won’t give us time to explain,” Tony says, looking over at him, “They’ll shoot on sight.”

 

Steve nods before speaking, “Thor, go back to Asgard, try to help as much as you can from there.  SHIELD won’t be able to reach you, and we need someone on the outside.  The rest of us need to stay together.”

 

——

 

_Four months later._

_Cuba_

An alarm blares through the cool morning, cool because the sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and Tony groans, pushing at Steve, who is already reaching to hit the snooze button.  He manages to knock the alarm clock off as he’s pulling his arm back, wrapping it around Tony and squeezing him lightly.  Tony hums, burrowing closer even as Bruce is dragged across the bed, arms still wound around Tony’s middle, nose pressed against the back of his neck.  Bruce groans as he’s moved, so Steve reaches further around, fingers sliding into Bruce’s curls and massaging his head lightly.  “You’re fine,” he mumbles, so Bruce settles.

 

This is how it is.  They fled to Cuba, letting Bruce lead them deeper and deeper until he was certain there were no longer SHIELD agents on their tail, and then they’d kept going until Tony was begging to stop, to just _settle_ , and that’s how they’d ended up here, scrambling for jobs and squatting until they could afford to pay rent on a one-bedroom apartment that they shared.

 

In New York, they had just been beginning.  A few months after the Chitauri, Tony and Steve had finally stopped dancing around each other, and it had only been two years before they were talking about Bruce, and it was only a month before they were framed that they started to figure out this new thing they had.  Since fleeing to Cuba, it’s just been there, without any real jumping point, the three of them stumbling through this new life together.

 

Natasha and Clint live downstairs, and though they’d wanted to get an apartment down the street, Steve had asked them to stay close just in case.  And so, here they are, hiding deep in the south, hiding until they can figure out how to clear their names.

 

“You’re going to be late,” Bruce murmurs suddenly, one of his hands releasing his hold on Tony to push at Steve.

 

It takes him a few minutes, but Steve finally untangles himself, pausing to tilt Tony’s chin up and kiss him lightly on the mouth, fingers sliding up to curl around his jaw, deepening the kiss a little, enough that Tony will wake up and kiss him back.  He hums into Steve’s mouth, leaning up toward him as Bruce nuzzles against him, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the nape of his neck, tongue darting out to lick lazily before he slumps back onto the bed.  Steve smiles as he pulls away, thumb brushing up over Tony’s cheek before he heads off toward the bathroom.

 

He gets ready for work, dressing in his construction clothes, moving slowly because the heat is rising and he’s still so tired.  He’s always tired here, trying to keep a low profile while still trying to live, and it’s just _exhausting_.

 

When he finishes getting ready, he goes back out into the room, where Bruce has coaxed Tony onto his back and is sucking a lazy bruise onto his collarbone, the sheets slipping down Bruce’s back, though Steve can see the rounds of Tony’s knees, pulled up, and _gods_ , he hates when they do this, makes it so hard for him to leave.

 

“Steve,” Tony groans, reaching out a hand as Bruce releases his skin and kisses wetly down his front.  Steve goes over against his better judgment, leaning down when Tony pulls at him, and he lets himself be drawn in by Tony’s wicked mouth, moaning softly when he lets out a low whine as Bruce takes his hard cock in his mouth, licking and sucking until Tony breaks away from Steve, back bowing as he presses against the mattress.  “ _Fuck_ , Bruce,” he says, one hand coming down to fist in Bruce’s curls, but Steve gets there first, pulling until Bruce lets Tony’s cock slap against his belly, and Steve can’t resist the urge to kiss him, to taste both of them there.

 

“You’re going to be late,” Bruce reprimands even as he bites on Steve’s lip and then kisses him again, tongue swiping the roof of his mouth.  They kiss lazily until Tony whines, and Bruce pulls away, laughing and crawling up toward him to quiet him.

 

Steve lingers a few moments longer before sighing and grabbing his backpack, heading out.

 

He hates that he likes it here, likes how easy it is, likes how no one asks any questions about the three men living in a one-bedroom apartment, likes how no one recognizes him as Captain America.  They’ve all disappeared here, just Steve, Tony, Bruce, and _the lovers_ —Natasha and Clint have taken to placing bets on each other in boxing matches to make their way—and he enjoys the anonymity.

 

His motorcycle is parked outside, and he swings a leg over it, smiling as it rumbles to life before he pulls up the kickstand and heads out.  Sometimes, he feels like he could get used to it here, and that worries him.

 

——

 

Tony gets out of bed eventually.  More often than not, he’s exhausted in the morning, someone always wanting something.  He’d never thought this possible, that he could wake up curled against Steve and roll over to be fucked by Bruce, Steve’s kiss lingering in his mouth.  When he’d first broached the topic with Steve, he’d been _so_ sure he was going to end up on his ass when he said, “I’m not saying this because I’ve cheated on you or have plans to, but I want to talk about sleeping with Bruce.”

 

In the end, it had been Tony walking out on Steve only to come roaring back in, “You slept with my _father_?”

 

“Tony—”

 

“ _With Peggy_?  I thought it was only Bucky back then!”

 

“It was only once, and it was after Bucky died,” Steve had said very quietly, fingers tracing over his dog tags, and then they’d stopped talking.

 

Now, it’s been over four months since that conversation, and Tony still finds himself in disbelief sometimes.

 

There’s always this moment, too, the brief space of quiet where it’s just him, listening to the sounds of this new world around him, this moment where he’d give it all away to just be back in New York.  He never thought he’d be homesick for his country like Steve always is, but it’s this moment, breathing in the damp, humid air—it’s going to rain later—the sheets clinging to his legs a little even as the Stark-improved fan fights the heat, that Tony desperately wants to go home.  It’s always this moment that gets him out of bed.

 

Tony takes a cold shower, brews coffee in the kitchen, and munches on cereal while he waits.  Their flat isn’t large—just a spacious bedroom, a small bathroom, an open kitchen, and a living room that is blocked off and boarded up, that holds Tony and Steve’s suits, as well as every gun that they could carry, both over the border and found here.

 

When the coffee’s ready, Tony pours it into a thermos and heads out.  He taps on Natasha and Clint’s door as he goes by, waits by the window on the first floor, which is really just an empty room, and, when they’ve joined him and he’s sure no one is watching, Natasha clears away a pile of dirty sheets and pulls on the handle to a trapdoor.  They go down, Tony locking it behind them.  The door is all steel with a small touchpad on the other side.

 

Below, an unfinished basement sits, the floor cool dirt and the walls and ceiling concrete.  Tony clears his throat, and the room flickers to life, three stations unveiling in a faint blue glow.  “Good morning, sir.”

 

“Buenos días, querida.  **(Good morning, darling.)**  Got anything for us?”

 

“Indeed,” Jarvis says, and so they get to work.

 

They work diligently, categorizing everyone that placed bets on the lovers last night to see if any are potential threats.  Tony leaves them to it after a while, delving instead into SHIELD’s mainframe, plugging in.  Jarvis leaks a classic rock playlist into his headphones as he hacks.  He picks a name at random, infiltrates the agent’s profile until he knows them enough to get around, and then starts fucking around, sometimes tearing whole structures down, though mostly just trying to find out as much as he can.  He hasn’t found out much more than this: Mystique took on each of their faces and went on a massacre inside SHIELD.  For what, he can’t figure it out, and it’s starting to make him crazy that they’re hiding their tracks so well.

 

“Sir,” Jarvis says suddenly, pulling up a screen on his right.

 

Tony looks over at it for a few moments before grinning and shifting, rolling his shoulder and cracking his back.  He types out a quick command, fingers dancing over the keys, and then a line pops up on the screen, _Director, we have identified a security breach._

The response comes quickly, _Fuck off, Stark._

Tony shakes his head, typing, _It appears to be a breach in sector 11’s files, sir._

Tony can nearly hear his sigh when he types, _Stark spangled banner._

_I resent that title._

_Maybe you shouldn’t be fucking Captain fucking America and the fucking Hulk._

_Oh, Director, how I’ve missed you._

_I’m tracking your IPS address._

_Good luck._

_Where are you?_

_I’m not sure I can trust you yet._   And then Tony disconnects the line and unplugs, though not before stamping the agent’s name he’s been piggybacking all over his handiwork.

 

He sighs, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Tony,” Natasha calls softly, “I think you should see this.”

 

——

 

“Dos tomates, por favor. Sí, gracias, **(Two tomatoes, please.  Yes, thank you.)** ” Bruce says as the woman hands over two lovely looking tomatoes.  He smiles when she pats his hand and asks, “¿Cómo le va a su hija hoy? **(How is your daughter today?)** ”

 

“Mucho mejor, mucho mejor.  Muchas gracias, doctor, **(Much better, much better.  Thank you, doctor.)** ” she says, beaming, and he just nods and turns away.

 

He continues through the market, doing the shopping and asking around until he hears, “¡Disculpa!  ¡Disculpa!  Doctor! **(Help!  Help!  Doctor!)** ”  He turns, looking until he sees a head of brown curls bouncing toward him.

 

As discreetly as he can, he lifts a hand toward his ear, as though he’s brushing back his hair, and whispers, “Jay, you awake?”

 

“Of course, sir.  Scanning now.”

 

The young woman comes bounding into sight, and Bruce smiles as she approaches.  “Por favor, mi madre está enferma. Que le puede ayudar?  **(Please, my mother is sick.  Can you help her?)** ” she asks, though before Bruce can respond, she reaches for his hand, fingers curling around his wrist, “Rápidamente, por favor! **(Quickly, please!)** ”

  
Bruce tenses, but follows, letting her tug him along until they’re close and Jarvis says, “Sir.  Abort.  She is the daughter of a high drug lord.  No direct affiliations to SHIELD as far as I can tell, though.”

 

“Don’t tell Tony,” Bruce whispers before they’re stepping inside her house.

 

He spends the morning with the woman and her mother, and, by the time he’s finished, it’s late afternoon, and he’s hungry for the first time in a few days.  None of them eat a lot anymore, mostly due to stress and lack of want, but he feels like they’ve been settling a lot more in the past two months, and he’s worried what that’s going to do to them.

 

“Gracias, gracias, gracias!” the young woman calls as he takes his leave, promising to check in tomorrow.

 

He goes back toward the market, does the last of the shopping, and then heads home, dropping off the groceries before he makes his way down the block to the bar, where Tony’s leaning against the cool, polished wood and laughing as a group of men try and fail horribly to pick up a few girls sitting with their backs to the bar.

 

Tony had been the hardest of them to hide.  Coming to Cuba, there had been a few that recognized Bruce from his medical work, though they’d snuck Tony in, disguised him until they could get him somewhere safe because everyone always seemed to know his face.  And now, he looks like an entirely different man, with his beard grown out, still short, but filling out his face now, and his hair is a little grey in spots, enough that Bruce wonders if he colors it, which is always fun to bring up.

 

He looks so comfortable here, too, in his loose blue shirt, light enough that it draws everyone’s gaze to his bright eyes, his dark shorts and flip flops, and Bruce can’t help but smile as he sits and taps the bar, Tony turning to flash him a grin before he returns his attention to the girls now turning around.  They talk quickly in a jumble of Spanish and French, Tony bouncing back and forth with them.  Bruce still isn’t sure just how many languages he’s fluent in, and how many he’s learned since they got here, but it always amazes him to listen to Tony talk.

 

He responds quickly, taps the bar, and then pushes away from it, coming down Bruce’s end and leaning over.  Bruce rolls his eyes and kisses him, just a small peck before he’s saying, “Burger, I’m starved.”

 

“What _ever_ ,” Tony grumbles, turning away.  He calls into the kitchen before going back to pouring drinks, and Bruce watches him, content just to look.  When they’d settled here, it was easy for them to find jobs until it came to Tony, and then his supreme intelligence and strange work ethic were all but useless.  It had taken a while, and a few fights about alcoholism, but eventually he’d started at the bar, and then a few weeks after that had begun, he’d started clocking time at a junkyard, sometimes fixing, sometimes stealing.

 

When he’s finished with the drinks, he wipes down the bar, tosses the rag over his shoulder, and comes over, leaning on his elbows and getting into Bruce’s space.  “It’s supposed to get cold tonight,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Bruce rolls his eyes even as he reaches out a hand to tug on Tony’s shirt.

 

“This looks nice,” he says, watching Tony look over at his hand.

 

He starts to respond when there comes a yell from the kitchen, “Hamburguesa!” and Tony disappears to go fetch Bruce’s lunch.  A rush comes in, and Tony’s darts around, all smiles and quick hands.

 

Bruce is halfway through his burger when soft lips touch his shoulder, and he looks over to see Steve sitting next to him.  Being attracted to _Captain America_ was never something he considered, even when they’d approached him, and though he’s grown to appreciate, and even long for Steve’s touch, he can’t deny that seeing him now, in his dirty blue jeans and his shirt clinging to him, outlining the myriad of taught muscles, work boots and a baseball cap, he can’t help but grin, turning toward him a little.  Though they always seem to gravitate toward Tony, Steve anchors them.

 

Bruce can almost feel Tony’s wicked smirk as he comes over, leaning across the bar until his shirt stretches up, revealing a strip of tan skin at his lower back.  Steve meets him, one hand coming up to curl around his jaw, and it’s a kiss softer and longer than Bruce ever dares hope for.  Though he feels wholly included into this thing they’re doing, he knows, inherently, it’s about Steve and Tony, the love they have for each other, and all the shit they’ve been through.  They’re different together, and Bruce can’t even fathom the amount of trust they have that they’d been able to turn their gaze on someone else, let alone _him_ , as broken as he is.

 

When they part, Tony’s smirk has slipped into something wide and brilliant, and Steve just laughs and slides a thumb over his bottom lip before dropping onto the stool.  He leans into Bruce as Tony disappears to shout for another burger, and Bruce smiles, turning his head to press a kiss to Steve’s thick, damp shoulder.

 

They spend lunch there, trying to stay cool, but Steve’s break isn’t long, and he leaves after a while, promising to be home on time tonight—he’s been disappearing more and more lately—and then Bruce is stretching and waving to a busy Tony before he heads out, making himself useful wherever he can.

 

——

 

Steve likes to watch the sunset from up here, as high as he can get, just sit and watch, drinking it all in, letting the heat slowly fall away until he feels like he can breathe again.  Sometimes, he likes to pretend he can see America from here, likes to close his eyes and pretend he’s still _home_.

 

When the sun’s almost at the horizon, he climbs down, and he reaches the ground when it’s nearly dark, collecting his things.  “Al salir esta noche, gringo? **(Coming out tonight?)** ” someone calls his way, and Steve waves a hand, already heading away from the construction site.  They shout after him, but he just keeps going, fingers curled in the straps of his backpack.  He passes the bar, which is loud now, people spilling outside.  Their flat is just a block away, and Natasha and Clint are out, as they usually are, when he passes by their door and continues upstairs.

 

“Bruce?” he calls as he stops by in the kitchen to pour a glass of water.  He always feels so dehydrated here, like he can never get quite enough.

 

He drops his backpack in their room on the floor, sits on the bed to take off his boots, and then frowns when he hears something like water sloshing.  He gets up, drains the rest of his glass, and goes into the bathroom.  Bruce is sitting in the bath, knees hugged against his chest, his face turned away from Steve.

 

He knocks lightly on the doorframe before stepping inside, closing the toilet to sit on it.  “Hey,” he says, not touching him.  They’ve come home to this plenty of times, Bruce so hot he doesn’t trust himself to even move, so fearful of shifting to Hulk and not being able to control it.  Half the reason they have so many fans, all of which have been tinkered with until they’re not quite fans anymore, is because of Bruce, to keep him stable.

 

Bruce doesn’t respond, just continues to sit there, and Steve frowns, reaching out carefully, hand brushing along his bicep.  He starts, jerking upright and looking over.  “Sorry,” he says, taking out a set of ear buds, “Different planet.  Tony home?”

 

“Not yet.  You okay?” Steve asks.

 

Bruce nods quickly, handing over his ear buds before he stands up and reaches for a towel.  “Yeah, just feeling gross.  It was actually relatively nice out today, not too bad.  How was work?”

 

He’s talking like Tony, which means something’s happened, and Steve follows him from the bathroom into the bedroom where Bruce is rummaging around for something to wear.  He finds a pair of shorts and slips into those before going over to the window and closing it.  “Bruce—” Steve begins, but Bruce holds up a hand and continues over to the corner of the room, sliding his thumb along the crease a few inches.

 

Instantly, the room starts to cool down, and Steve looks around in wonder.  “He finally figured out how to get it centralized to this room.  It only works for a few hours because of the shitty wiring and electricity, but it’s better than only fans.”  Bruce flops onto the bed, stretching out, and Steve watches him with a small smile.  “Freshly washed sheets,” he tempts, patting the bed.

 

“I’m gonna take a shower first,” Steve says, though he comes over to kiss Bruce before he strips down and goes into the bathroom.

 

Tony arrives as he’s getting out and drying off, cackling a little about how cold the room is.  “I am _clearly_ a certified genius,” he says as he struts in, already stripping out of his blue shirt.  “I have _goose bumps_!  Guys!  Oh,” he adds, stopping when he finds Bruce on his back, his head turned to the side, breathing softly.  “Asleep?” he asks, looking over at Steve, but that’s equally distracting.  Steve says something, Tony’s sure, but he’s still a little wet, and he’s only wearing a towel, and he’s so much tanner, though not quite as much as Tony, from working under the sun, his muscles so much more defined than they usually are.

 

“Well,” Tony says, and Steve sighs, though he’s smiling.

 

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony closes the space between them quickly, catching Steve in mid-word, tongue sliding in as he lifts onto his toes and clings to him, one hand curling over his bicep, nails digging in as the other braces against his chest.  Steve lets himself get lost in it, leaning down so Tony doesn’t have to reach as much, kissing him long and slow.  “Bed,” Tony mumbles when they part for air, Steve kissing down his jaw and to his throat, mouth wet against his salty skin.  “Before the cool air runs out,” he says when Steve doesn’t move them, but then Steve is biting at the hollow of his throat, his thumb tipping Tony’s head back, locked under his jaw, and Tony groans, letting Steve bruise him until he pulls back with a gasp, gaze looking past Tony and at Bruce stirring in the bed.

 

“Bed,” he says, slapping Tony’s ass lightly before he leaves him to go crawl onto the bed, nose running along Bruce’s jaw before he kisses down his front, over the greying curls on his chest and down to the trail at his stomach, licking over his hip bone before Tony is just _there_ , squirming his way between them and pushing Steve onto his back.  He straddles him, knees sliding up by his ribs as he draws Steve back in.

 

Bruce finally stirs into wakefulness, humming softly when he sees them.  He rolls toward them lazily, forehead landing on Tony’s arm as he reaches forward to kiss Steve’s side.  He loves how much bigger he’s gotten since they settled here—and he didn’t even know he _could_ get bigger—and he knows Tony admires his body, as well, and so he can’t help sidling up until he can kiss up to one of his nipples, teeth scraping lightly over it.  Steve breaks away with a sharp gasp, head tipping backward as Bruce licks over it, smiling softly.

 

Tony laughs, voice pitched low, even as he turns and tugs at Bruce’s curls, waiting for him to look up before he kisses him, rocking absentmindedly against Steve as Bruce shifts, never breaking away from Tony until he’s kneeling, and then he’s reaching forward, fingers tugging at Tony’s shorts, and that’s when he realizes Bruce is naked, as well.

 

“How is it that I’m the only one wearing clothes?” Tony demands, looking offended.

 

“You’re _clearly_ not certified enough,” Steve quips, and Bruce drops backward, laughing, landing against Steve.  Tony mutters rudely at them even as he clambers off Steve and shucks off his shorts, and then he’s tumbling between them, Steve turning toward him even as Bruce mouths at his shoulders, kissing up until he bites at the nape of his neck, and Tony groans into Steve’s mouth.

 

Bruce shifts closer until Tony can feel his cock pressing against the swell of his ass, and he knows it’s coming before it happens, Steve shifting, as well, until Tony’s sandwiched between them, his leg coming up to hitch around Steve’s hip even as Bruce’s thigh slots between his legs, itching to be closer.  They lie like this, Steve and Tony making out easily, Bruce mapping out his shoulders and neck until Bruce is gone suddenly, the bed lifting as he moves.  When he returns, Steve pulls away to nudge against Tony’s jaw until he tips his head back, and then he kisses down his throat and to his chest, moving along the outer rim of the arc reactor, where he’s most sensitive.

 

Bruce’s fingers are cool when they brush against him, the pad of his finger slick against his entrance, and Tony takes him in eagerly, a tremor running through him as Steve wraps his fingers around his dick loosely, mouth pressing a kiss to the center of the reactor.  Tony starts to make a smart remark about electricity and tongues, but then Bruce’s is pushing another finger in as Steve squeezes up his cock, thumb pressing in under the crown.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony whines, shaking again.  His body goes into slight sensory overload sometimes, and he can’t move toward either of them, too overwhelmed to do anything but lie there and tremble.  He loves every second of it, but he needs someone inside of him, and so he whines again, this time more petulant, and yanks at Steve’s blonde hair.  Steve goes, always pliant, hand curling back to brush at his balls, and Tony’s hips twitch forward, Bruce’s fingers scissoring inside of him.

 

Bruce looks up, catching Steve’s gaze, one eyebrow lifting, and Steve nods, so Bruce slides another finger inside, and Tony groans.  He always gets a third finger when Steve goes first, and before he really registers that, Steve is coaxing him onto his other side, but Tony shakes his head, pushing away from him to scoot closer to Bruce, hovering over him as he licks into Bruce’s mouth, knees spreading on either side.

 

Steve’s moan is low and quiet, but they still respond, Bruce arching up toward Tony as Tony wraps a hand around his cock, jerking him slowly.  Steve moves, one hand curling around Tony’s hip as the other guides his cock to his ass.  He lays a soft kiss against the small of his back, mouthing up his spine, and Tony hums in response, so Steve slides in, groaning at his tight heat.  Tony jerks forward a little—he always, _always_ does—and Bruce reaches for him, anchoring him.

 

Tony leans down, kissing Bruce hotly, getting lost in him until Steve pulls out and slams back in, hips snapping against Tony’s ass hard enough that Tony’s breath leaves him in a high whine.

 

It’s fluid with them, and though they still fumble sometimes, it’s become a well-rehearsed dance.  Someone is always busy distracting Tony, and there’re so many hands that someone’s always busy distracting someone else.  Even as Bruce kisses Tony, moving into something frantic and a little bit desperate as Steve’s thrusts get harder and longer, his hand slides up, comes around to grip at Steve’s ass, nails tightening briefly before they’re rolling up, coming to bite into his back, drawing red lines that are always in the same spot, that never seem to truly go away.  The dynamic just _works_ for them.  Bruce hates marking Tony—it’s happened too often to either of them for worse reasons for it to be okay—but he loves the red, raw lines and the ugly bruises he leaves on Steve, just as Steve can never seem to get enough of his teeth on Tony’s skin, drawing a blush to the surface, a trail of angry bites down his spine, and Tony loves taking it all in, loves looking at everywhere they’ve touched him afterward.

 

“Fuck, _Steve_ ,” he groans suddenly, head dropping down onto Bruce’s shoulder, hips shifting upward further, and Steve’s hand slides up to press down between Tony’s shoulder blades, holding him there as Bruce fists both their cocks and jerks in time with Steve’s quickening thrusts.

 

“Bruce,” Steve pants, leaning down as he starts to slow, and Bruce lifts up as much as he can, holding onto Tony as he meets Steve halfway, groaning when Steve licks over the roof of his mouth, something he knows Tony taught him.

 

“Yeah,” Bruce says when they part, and Steve straightens, hands coming down over Tony’s hips again, thrusting in twice, _hard_ , enough to make Tony cry out before he’s sliding out and dropping back onto his heels.  Bruce strokes himself, watching Tony’s face, his eyes rolled back and his face slack, his ass clenching around nothing a second before he shifts, knees sliding up so he can line himself up with Bruce, taking him in easily.

 

Bruce’s breath comes out like a punch even as he turns his head, gaze flicking over to Steve.  Tony rocks slowly at first, adjusting to Bruce, before he’s patting at him, one hand on his stomach, the other reaching back for his legs.  Bruce brings his knees up to give Tony something to balance against.  “Steve,” Bruce says, reaching for him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Fuck yes, come _here_ ,” Tony says, reaching for him, as well.  Steve goes, and though they’ve done this one other time, it wasn’t entirely successful the first time.  Tony pulls at him when he doesn’t go between them, and so Steve lets himself be led, Tony and Bruce’s hands flittering over him until he’s perched over Bruce’s chest, his cock resting heavily against his sternum, Tony’s forehead braced against his back as he slowly fucks down onto Bruce’s cock.

 

“’Mere,” Bruce says, pulling at him a little until Steve shifts up closer, and then Bruce is taking his cock in his mouth, and Steve sighs, leaning forward one hand to brace against the wall.  Bruce takes him in as far as he can, mouth stretched tight around Steve’s cock until he leans back, sucking at the head as Tony’s thighs tighten, his body shifting quicker against him, using both of them as leverage.  “Fuck,” Tony says, his breath coming faster and harsher as his nails dig in against Steve’s shoulder.

 

It’s quiet for a few seconds, Steve swallowing down his moan as Bruce curls his tongue around his dick, but then Tony’s whine shatters around them, his ass impossibly tighter around Bruce’s cock, and Steve reaches back, one hand closing around the base of his dick.  Tony’s whine pitches in a high keen, and he fucks himself harder down onto Bruce’s cock, desperately trying to crest the edge even as Steve holds him at bay.

 

Bruce sucks in earnest, head moving as best as he can, and Steve nearly loses it, a shout tumbling out of him unbidden, his toes curling in the sheets, but then Tony’s slamming down and stilling, ass clenching spasmodically, his thighs so tight it’s painful.  “ _Steve_ ,” he whines, trembling all over, “ _Please_.  I need to come.”

 

It’s Bruce’s undoing, and he pulls away from Steve, his cock dropping against his chest as his hips jerk upward, and Tony cries out as his cock rubs over his prostate a second before Bruce comes, a low moan stuttering out of him.  Steve climbs off almost gracefully, though he’s close enough that it hurts, and he grabs at Tony even as Bruce starts to come down, shaking a little.  “Steve,” he says a heartbeat before Steve kisses him, hard and fast and _begging_ , and then Tony’s gone, dropping onto his back, legs spreading and lifting even as Steve grabs at him, pulling him down the bed against him.

 

Tony _screams_ , back bowing off the bed as Steve slams in and sets a brutal pace.  Tony throws out a hand, landing on Bruce, nails scraping against his chest as his leg lifts higher, almost straightening, and then he’s shattering apart, coming across his stomach and chest.  Steve lifts onto his knees as he does, shifting the angle until Tony’s back is off the bed, and Steve fucks into him, head tipped backward until he groans, sharp and full and long, his voice stretching out into the night as he staggers and stills, filling Tony a second time.

 

It always takes longer for Steve to come back to them, though Tony kicks at him until he drops him back onto the bed before he falls onto his side, burrowing against Tony a little, his whole body aching.  Bruce rolls over, coming up on one shaky elbow and leaning down to lick the mess from the bottom edge of the arc reactor, and so Tony tangles his fingers in his curls and tips his head up, kissing him in thanks.

 

Tony is always too fucked out to actually be of any coherent state of mind after they have sex, so Bruce is always the one to clean them up, finding a towel somewhere to wipe away the mess on Tony.  Steve always leans up before he’s gone, asking, and Bruce always kisses him, a soft, slow thing until Tony’s whining at them about forgetting him again, and then they snuggle up on either side of him.

 

Tony likes to sleep in the middle because he feels safe with them on either side, his soldier and his scientist.  Bruce likes sleeping near the door so he can escape if he needs to, and though he sleeps on his back—any other position makes him feel claustrophobic—he’s always tangled in them.  Tony always gives one foot to each men, always looking for warmth, and Steve always loops an arm around enough that his hand rests lightly against Bruce’s stomach, wrapped with his own fingers, or just tracing lines against his side until he drifts off.  Steve always wants to be touching both of them, Tony curled in his arms, and he always feels like Bruce is too far away, so he usually ends up pulling him a little closer.  They usually wake up too hot and too close, but it’s always worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the first installment. Man, I haven’t done something chaptered in so long, this feels weird. I hope you all paid attention to the beginning notes because I will not be repeating all of it here. I’m really, really excited about this fic, guys. I’ve been doing a Chris Evans marathon for the past couple weeks, and when Erin finally agreed to watch _The Losers_ , we’d barely gotten fifteen minutes in before it was happening. We keep doing that lately, putting the Avengers in whatever situations the movies are that we’re watching, though, while watching _The Losers_ , we kind of categorized Jensen as Tony and Steve’s child because he’s kind of manic while being incredibly gorgeous, so there was that. I think there were comparisons to Wade Wilson, as well. Anyway, I’m rambling. I hope you guys enjoyed this, and I’ll have the next chapter up in a while, though probably not as soon as I usually do because I want to try to stretch this out as the chapters are going to be really long. Don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s different, every time with Steve, and it always leaves Bruce feeling a little broken apart, a little too exposed, and he wonders if Tony’s just gotten used to that, the feeling of absolute and complete honesty that being with Steve creates.

Steve wakes late the next morning, blue eyes blinking open slowly, golden sunlight filling the room.  Tony is heavy against him, still fast asleep, his head pillowed on his chest.  Bruce is still asleep, as well, his arm trapped under Tony, hand resting against his stomach, his head turned to the other side, chest rising slowly.  Steve stirs, stretching a little as he shifts toward Tony, pressing a kiss to his mess of hair.

 

Bruce’s head lolls over, and he smiles sleepily at Steve, eyes only half-open, lids still so heavy.  “Day off?” Bruce asks, his words slurring together, and Steve nods, leaning over to give him a soft kiss before he carefully slips out from under Tony.

 

He starts to walk away when Tony flings a hand out, grabbing at him, fingers curling around his wrist.  “Come back,” he mumbles even as he sinks into the bed, fingers sliding away from Steve.

 

“I’m going to shower,” Steve says, turning away, but then Bruce is reaching for him, as well, and Steve can’t help but laugh at the way they’re both so tired but still such _children_.  He goes back to them, lying on his side and prodding at Tony until he lifts his head, eyes closed, and then he laughs again, kissing him softly.

 

“Stay,” Tony says, snuggling back against him.

 

Bruce rolls over, scooting closer to Tony, and Steve loves that he’s okay enough with them now that he can put his back to the door, that he trusts them to keep him safe.

 

Steve gives in, curling closer to them so that they’re all a jumble of limbs and shared breaths until neither of them is quite sure when Steve and Tony started making out, Bruce’s fingers sliding down Tony’s back.  They have slow, easy sex, Steve and Bruce kind of fawning over Tony, like they usually do, but they’re soft in the mornings, careful.  When it’s like this, when they’re so close the heat outside doesn’t bother them because there’s so much trapped between them, when Tony’s pliant and sleepy and soft between them, it’s always slow when it’s like this.  They take turns, bringing him closer and closer until Tony’s got one leg hitched high, knee brushing Steve’s shoulder, his right hand curved backward to thread in Bruce’s unruly curls.

 

Tony always comes first when it’s like this, trembling between them as Bruce bites at the nape of his neck, Steve licking into his mouth and swallowing down his low moan.  Bruce is always close behind him, sliding closer and closer to Tony, rutting slowly against the swell of his ass, until Steve clambers over and pushes at his shoulder, and this is the only time Bruce has Steve’s undivided attention, the only time Steve hitches a leg over his elbow and stretches him, always quick, but always careful.  Tony never, _never_ tops, and he’s quite content with that, and Bruce only ever bottoms with Steve, and only ever when it’s quiet like this, when the mornings are slow and easy.  It’s different, every time with Steve, and it always leaves Bruce feeling a little broken apart, a little too exposed, and he wonders if Tony’s just gotten used to that, the feeling of absolute and complete honesty that being with Steve creates.

 

Steve is always last when it’s like this, bringing Bruce over the edge with a few, slow thrusts, and he thrusts shallowly as Bruce rides it out, clinging to both of them, which usually brings Tony back around, pawing at Steve until he drops onto his back, shaking, and then Tony puts his wicked mouth to use, lips sealed tightly around Steve’s cock.

 

Days off are tender days, days when they can just lie together, _be_ together, and they’re always the days they love best.

 

Eventually, Steve finally gets up to shower, and, when he gets out, Tony and Bruce are sleeping again, Tony on his front, one hand splayed across Bruce’s chest and the under tucked underneath him.  Steve knows it’s resting over the reactor, knows how terrified he is of it breaking here, where they’re so far from anything that can truly save him.  He lingers, just looking at them for a while, until he sighs and goes to dress.  He wears simple, loose clothes, dark tan shorts, a faded navy blue shirt, and worn out sneakers.  He grabs a baseball cap on the way out, and then he’s grabbing a pair of earphones and jogging down the stairs.

 

Outside, Steve taps one of the earphones and says, “Good morning, Jarvis.”

 

“Good morning, Captain.  How may I be of service today?”

 

“I’m going for a run, if you wouldn’t mind supplying some tunes.”

 

“Of course, sir.  Let me know if you need anything else,” he says before one of Steve’s playlists starts leaking in through the earphones.

 

He tucks his tags underneath his shirt and then starts off.  This is when he feels most at home, the hard ground thundering up through his legs, his feet coming down in time with his heart until it doesn’t matter where he is, and he feels okay.  Each day, he feels more and more lost, every day that they settle further into Cuba, every day that they heal a little more, they’re pulling farther and farther away from their home until Steve isn’t sure they’ll recognize it if they ever go back.

 

Running only works for about an hour, and then he’s left staggering to a halt, overwhelmed as his heart thunders in his chest and everything threatens to come pouring out, and so he sits, drawing his knees to his chest and hiding his face.

 

——

 

Tony wakes before Bruce, and so he gets out of bed carefully.  He hasn’t been sleeping well, so they’ve been trying to give him every opportunity.

 

After a quick shower, Tony dresses in something loose and comfortable before going downstairs and knocking on Natasha and Clint’s door.  He lingers outside this time, leaning against the wall, and eventually Clint opens the door, bare chested and looking a little flustered.  Tony rolls his eyes and says, “I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re done.”

 

Clint just nods and closes the door.  And so, Tony goes down into the basement alone, but he likes it this way, when he can just be with Jarvis, just the two of them, and he can pretend he’s back home.  He stays away from SHIELD today—he likes to space out his dips in, keep them guessing—and tinkers around for a while until that gets boring, and Tony sighs, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head.

 

“Let’s talk about sex, baby,” he sings quietly, swaying back and forth, “Let’s talk about you and me.”  He drops off into a hum until he remembers the yoga mat he leaves out, and he jumps up, talking as he walks, “Jay, I am _bored_ , and all my distractors are busy.”

 

“Might I suggest polishing up on your various Spanish dialects, sir?”

 

“ _Lame_.  How do you feel about—” he drifts off as he reaches his mat, and then he kneels, sitting straight backed until he finally continues, “Genetics.”

 

“A degree in genetics would take quite some time, sir.”

 

“I am so not okay with the fact that Xavier gets to toot about with his _I know everything PhD_.”

 

“Might I remind you that you hold multiple PhDs, sir?”

 

“Sure.  How long?”

 

“With our considerable lack of resources, sir, the projected outcome is seven months.”

 

“ _Balls_ ,” Tony groans, shifting positions.  He holds downward dog for a few breaths before grinning and asking, “What about in Russian?”

 

“Sir, your knowledge of Russian is limited to a vocabulary, while quite colorful, based on vulgarity.”

 

“Jarvis,” he says, and the fact that Jarvis makes a noise so close to a sigh makes Tony a little giddy.  Even here, so far from where they belong, he’s still advancing, and Tony loves to see the progress he’s made as a self-improving AI.

 

“Shall we begin, then?”

 

Two hours later, after Tony has finished his first leg of yoga and is well into a boxing routine, the hatch door opens up, admitting the lovers.  Clint goes over to a computer, and Natasha starts to follow him when she hears Tony.

 

“Наш местный гений решил, что хочет получить докторскую степень в области генетики, но я не настолько умен, так что это меня притворяться, на русском языке, чтобы написать о генетике. **(Our resident genius decided he wanted to get a PhD in genetics, but I’m not that smart, so this is me pretending to write about genetics in Russian.)** ”

 

“Are you— _Tony_.”

 

“Эй, слушайте! **(Yo, listen up!)** ” he shouts, and then roundhouse kicks the punching bag before hopping backward, moving from foot to foot.

 

“Miss Romanoff, Mister Barton, всегда приятно, **(always a pleasure)** ” Jarvis says from overhead.

 

“Is—are you— _Tony_ ,” Natasha says, coming over as Clint laughs and drops into a chair.

 

Tony slows until he’s still, his grin wide and loose.  “Good accent?”

 

“Unfortunately,” she says, shaking her head and glaring at him for a moment before going over to wrap her hands.  Tony shrugs, moving the bag out of the way.  “Go on,” she says, waving a hand toward them.

 

Jarvis launches back into a dialogue on various topics concerning genetics _in Russian_ , and Natasha wraps her hands slowly, just watching them as Tony starts stretching.  It’s beautiful, sometimes, to listen to them talk, to witness the repertoire they’ve built over the years in person.

 

When they’re both ready, they start sparring, and they only break for two reasons—either Natasha is trying to improve one of Tony’s moves, or Tony is trying to understand something Jarvis is saying.  They go on like this for a while until Tony’s breathing is a little too fast, and Jarvis cuts in with, “Perhaps a break is in order, sir.”

 

Tony makes a disjointed noise, turning away, but he stumbles, and Natasha jerks forward, catching his elbow.  “Hey,” she says, frowning, “You okay?”  Tony tries to nod, but his vision is swimming, so he closes his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing like Bruce is always telling him to, but his chest is so tight it’s making it hard to focus on anything else.  “Alright, come on, let’s sit down.”

 

She steers him over to his chair, helping him into it, and he reaches blindly for his water, taking a big gulp before tipping his head back and groaning.  “I’m _fine_ , Nat,” he mumbles when he feels her still hovering.

 

“You—”  He opens his eyes, glaring at her, and though she returns it, she doesn’t continue.  “Fine,” she snaps, stalking away.

 

“Sir?” Jarvis says quietly.

 

“What’s up, Jay?”

 

“Is it getting worse?”

 

Tony sighs, reaching up a hand to press against his chest.  He stays there for a moment before he jerks out of his chair and heads for the ladder.  “It’s too fucking hot here,” he mutters before he disappears.

 

As soon as he’s gone, Natasha says, “Jarvis,” but there’s no response.

 

——

 

Steve runs until he can’t remember how long it’s been, and, when he looks around, he realizes he doesn’t know where he is, and he finds he can breathe a little easier.  He slows into a cool down jog, and then eventually stops to stretch a little before he’s walking through the countryside, hands dug in his pockets.  He walks until he sees a village in the distance, and he keeps going until he reaches the village, slowly making his way through.  He stops at a small market where a woman is shouting about bananas, and he buys a bushel that looks beautiful, thinking about how Bruce had complained of the lack of ripe bananas last time he went.  He keeps walking until he starts to reach the other edge of the village, and then he hears, “Eh, eh, gringo!  Eh, look!  This the gringo I tell you about!”

 

Steve looks over toward the voice, frowning when he sees a short, broad-shouldered man.  He nods, hoping it will appease him, before he turns away again, but then the man is jogging after him, a group flocking him.  “Eh, gringo!” he shouts, and Steve sighs, stopping and turning.  “You fight tonight?” he asks, reaching Steve and stopping a few feet from him, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“No,” Steve says before turning again.

 

The man grabs his arm, and Steve grits his teeth, trying to keep his cool as he yanks, pulling him back around.  “You no fight soon, we find where you live,” the man says, shrugging and looking around him.  The others nod, as well, and Steve sighs.

 

“The lovers are fighting tonight,” he says, and a murmur scatters through them, “Tomorrow night.”

 

“You fight tomorrow night?  I place bet against you, gringo,” he says, his voice dropping as he leans forward, jabbing Steve in the chest, “You lose tomorrow night.”  He grins at him, and Steve just holds his glare as they start to disperse.

 

Eventually, they’re gone, and Steve takes a moment to collect himself before heading out.

 

When he arrives home, it’s getting late, and Natasha and Clint are sparring out back.  “Hey, Cap,” Clint calls as he approaches, “Fight tonight, you coming?”

 

“Yeah, I think Tony’s convinced Bruce to go.”

 

“Steve,” Natasha says as she blocks one of Clint’s blows and lands one on his shoulder, sending him stumbling back.  She jogs over as he grumbles at her, and Steve pauses at the corner of the house.

 

“Everything okay?” he asks when she doesn’t continue.

 

Natasha sighs, looking away.  She looks so much different than she did when he first met her, her hair longer and curlier, always pulled up in a ponytail now, but they all look different now—Tony with his grey, Bruce and Clint with their beards, and Steve wonders if when they look at him, they see someone else now, as well.

 

“No,” she says suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts as she looks back up at him, “Something happened with Tony earlier, when we were sparring.  He got dizzy, couldn’t walk on his own—it was enough that Jarvis was concerned.”

 

Steve nods, sighing.  “Thank you for telling me.”

 

Natasha just shrugs one shoulder and goes back to Clint, laughing when he swears at her.  Steve leaves them to flirt and fight as he goes around to the front and heads upstairs.

 

It’s quiet as he walks down the hall, though, as soon as the door opens, he can hear them, Tony’s voice echoing softly around the flat, pitched low in a rhythm of moans, and he means to be stern, means to keep in mind that he has to ask Tony what’s going on, but even the sound of him makes his cock harden in his shorts, makes him want to rush into the bedroom to see what he might find.

 

When Steve steps inside, Tony and Bruce are nowhere to be seen, but the shower is on, and Steve sighs, going to dump on the bed, laying spread eagle as he closes his eyes and tries _not_ to think about them fucking in the shower.  It’s barely big enough for two people, never mind three, and though he’s tempted to let them know he’s here, he’s always curious about what it’s like when it’s just the two of them.

 

When they’d first started this thing with Bruce, it had been a little chaotic at first.  They hadn’t really discussed the whole sleeping with each other separately thing, and Steve had come home one day to Tony hovering over Bruce, slowly bringing him to the edge, pressed so close it made Steve’s chest ache.  It hadn’t been until later that day, when he’d gone to talk to them about it, and Bruce had been alone in the lab, curled up on one of the futons with a book.  He’d looked so soft and careful that Steve had been drawn to him, and though nothing more than slow making out had happened, Steve had suddenly understood.

 

And now, lying here listening to them, Steve can’t help but groan and reach a hand down, pressing against his throbbing cock, trying to pretend he’s just going to ignore it, but then Tony cries out, and Bruce’s groan is so low, he almost misses it, but there it is, and Steve can picture him burying the noise away between Tony’s shoulder blades, hiding in him.

 

“Fuck, Bruce,” he hears, “ _Fuck_.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Fucking—shit, don’t stop.”

 

Steve swears softly and sits, undoing his shorts and letting them hang around his ankles.  He chokes down his moan as he curls a hand tightly around his cock, and he has to close his eyes and breathe deeply before he feels like he can continue, can stay quiet enough to still hear them.

 

When Tony’s close, his palm slaps against the shower wall, and Bruce groans softly, pressing closer, and then Tony’s choking on a yell, and Steve’s pulls get a little quicker until he’s trembling, his balls tight, and his thighs spreading a little.

 

“ _Bruce_ ,” Tony groans, and then Bruce is swearing, and Steve gasps, wrist flicking until he hears Bruce tip over the edge, always soft, always hiding, and he follows him over, coming in long stripes across his stomach.

 

He has about four minutes before they’re done.  Tony always gets handsy after sex, always wants to make out and curl close to the other person, and so Steve lets himself lie there for a little bit, catching his breath and coming down.  Finally, though, he gets up and cleans up, changes, and he’s just knocking on the doorframe when they shift apart, Bruce moving to shut off the water.

 

“Hey,” Tony says as he comes out, reaching for a towel.  Steve grunts, reaching for his toothbrush, though he jumps when Tony slaps his ass and leans up to kiss his jaw.  “You’re bad at being quiet,” he whispers, and Steve rolls his eyes.

 

“You’re bad at taking care of yourself,” he snaps back, and Tony just says something rude under his breath and goes into the bedroom.  Bruce appears as Steve is finishing, spitting into the sink.  He ties a towel around his waist and leans against the wall, looking toward the bedroom.

 

“I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack while we’re here,” he says when Steve looks over at him.

 

Fear like he hasn’t experienced since New York floods through him, and he starts to turn when Bruce shakes his head.  “I don’t know what to do to help him,” Bruce admits, and Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Bruce continues before he can, “We know he’s been having problems with his heart since we got here, but I think it’s getting worse.  I ran some tests while you were out, and—I feel like it’s just a matter of time.”

 

“Shit,” Steve says, sinking back against the wall.

 

Bruce nods, looking away.  “I’ll keep an eye on him, on his health, at least.  He needs to take it easy, though.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll—I’ll talk to him, see if he’ll actually listen.”

 

They stand in the bathroom for a few more seconds of silence before Bruce sighs and pushes off the wall and leaves.  Steve lets him, and he finds he can’t swallow when he’s gone.  They can’t lose Tony, not like this.

 

It occurs to him, suddenly, that this might be their excuse to go back.

 

He doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the night, and later, after Steve showers and they eat, they go out to the bar, trying to put it out of their minds.  They waste the night away drinking and laughing, Tony occasionally forcing one of them to dance with him.  When the night is dark and deep, those in the bar start to spill out onto the streets, moving as a crowd toward the center of the village, where a ring of people are already gathered.

 

People nod as Steve approaches, parting, and though he knows it’s bad for them to have a reputation, it’s also nice sometimes to not have to fight his way through _everything_.  They get to the front, near where the bets are being taken, and it’s not long before the lovers are appearing.

 

The first time Steve saw them fight, he’d mistakenly asked why everyone had gathered to watch them dance, but then the first blow had been thrown, and he’d understood.  Natasha and Clint fight like lovers, where they got their name, moving fluidly around one another, and Steve wonders sometimes if this is how they fuck, too, fast and feral, and it reminds him of snakes.

 

Natasha is always a little quicker, a little angrier, but Clint is smoother, quieter, and they compliment one another as their bodies come together and bang apart, moving like water.  Clint is the only person Steve’s ever seen able to counterattack some of Natasha’s more acrobatic and wild moves, and the volume of the crowd always swells when she’s in the air.

 

Tonight, however, Natasha’s distracted, and Steve can tell, can see it in the way she moves.  She’s careful, defensive, and Steve frowns, leaning toward Tony.  “Did something happen?” he asks quietly.

 

Tony shakes his head, not looking away from the fight.  “I don’t think so.  Why?”

 

“Something’s wrong,” Steve murmurs, frowning as he straightens and continues to watch them.

 

Clint wins, but it doesn’t feel quite right, and Steve isn’t the only one to notice.  He slips around one of Natasha’s more complicated moves, twists her arm behind her, and drops them to the ground, rolling and pinning her.  She just goes, not continuing their roll and knocking him off of her like they know she can.  When she looks up at Clint, her face is open, and he steels himself for both of them, holds something inside.

 

It takes a moment, but then he’s darting down, lightning quick to kiss her before he stands, and Steve doesn’t mean to hold his breath, but something is happening right now, and he watches it unfold as Clint looks away from her, lingers for a moment, and then leaves the second Natasha pushes upright.  She watches him go, and then the noise starts to filter in as people yell about their bets, swarming.  They lose her in the crowd, and then Steve sees a flash of red as she pushes her way through, calling for Clint.

 

When he turns, Tony is staring up at him and Bruce is watching them go.  Steve frowns at Bruce, seeing something there on his face, and Tony follows his gaze, but then Bruce shakes his head and it’s gone.  “We should go,” he says without looking at them, and he leaves before waiting for them.

 

“What the hell, man,” Tony grumbles, leaning against Steve before he follows him.

 

Steve watches them go, and he hates that he can see it happening, that he can see them finally starting to fall apart, after so long being okay.

 

——

 

That night, lying in bed, Bruce finds that, yet again, he can’t sleep.  He closes his eyes and feigns it until Tony falls asleep, his breathing evening out and his body getting heavy.  Only then does he open his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling until he hears Steve shift, and he knows he’s turning on his side, blue eyes flicking over Tony’s sleeping form.

 

“What is it?” Steve asks into the quiet.

 

“From what he’s told me, he’s having heart palpitations.  They’re—”

 

“An abnormal heartbeat, sometimes, yeah.  I had them when I was young, before the serum.  How long has this been going on?”

 

“About three weeks after we got here.”

 

“When we settled,” Steve clarifies, and Bruce closes his eyes again.  He can imagine Tony, ignoring every uncomfortable tightening of his chest while they were still running, while it was still chaotic, just trying to get by until finally, they’d had the flat, and they felt safe.  He can still remember walking in on Tony that first time, finding him on his knees in the kitchen, glass shattered around him.  He’d been clutching at his chest and wheezing, unable to draw in enough air, and Bruce had sat with him and tried to calm him until he’d tried everything but a cold shower, and the second he’d gotten Tony on his feet, he’d passed out.  Bruce hates to think of those first three weeks, though, how much pain he’d been in and how his first thought was to hide it, was to shove it away until they were okay enough to deal with it.

 

“I think he’s either already developed or is in the process of developing asthma, and they’re a symptom,” Bruce says when the quiet is too heavy, “I think he’s going to have an asthma attack, and it’s going to induce a heart attack.  I think—”

 

“Bruce.”

 

Bruce doesn’t answer, but instead looks over, meeting Steve’s gaze across Tony’s chest, where the light of the arc reactor reflects their faces.  “What if he has a panic attack?”

 

“No,” Bruce says, looking away quickly.  It can’t be that simple, not here, not now, it can’t be just _that_.  Bruce doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s _that_ that pushes him over.

 

“It’s so hot here,” Steve whispers, “Hot like the desert.”

 

“Hot like Afghanistan,” Bruce says, and then they’re not speaking anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting this a day early because I’ve just finished this fic at 44k and 9 chapters, so I’m very excited, :) I’m currently getting a back massage from Erin, which is fantastic. We’ve been doing core yoga, as well as stand practices—my ultimate goal is a scorpion—so I’m a little tight today. She and I have just finished editing, though, so I thought, in celebration, I’d post the next chapter early. I hate waiting a full week, but I don’t want this to go too quickly. It’s only 9 chapters, and each chapter is so long, I feel like a week is good. Anyway, I’m rambling, and I have to go to class soon, so I hope you enjoyed, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he goes back into the bedroom, he looks at the bathroom first, but he needs to be near Steve, needs to touch him and hold onto him and know he’s real, and so he abandons Bruce to go curl up with his soldier, closing his eyes and just willing sleep to take him.

Bruce is up early the next morning, earlier than Steve, and so he goes over by the window where one of his yoga mats is and stretches out, greeting the sun with a slow body.  Steve wakes halfway through his routine, and he hears him panic a heartbeat before he turns, and then he settles when he finds Bruce.  “Hey,” he murmurs, turning over onto his other side and smiling sleepily.  Bruce returns the smile but doesn’t speak, instead continues to hold his pose.  Eventually, Steve gets up to shower, and then Bruce has a full view of Tony, who looks so soft and _still_ while he sleeps.

 

He finishes yoga and goes to make breakfast, humming softly to himself.  He’s just sitting when he hears Tony shuffling in bed, and then his feet hit the floor, and he pads quietly across the bedroom, yawning.  He joins Steve in the shower, really just snuggling against him, still mostly asleep, until Steve laughs and kisses him awake.  They move around one another, and Bruce listens to them from the kitchen.  He always wishes he could have that with Tony, the ease and familiarity that Steve and he do, the ability to just shower, no other intentions, to just _be_ with him, and while they can science together for hours, it isn’t like that here, isn’t like how it was in New York.

 

Bruce manages to hold his contempt inside until he hears Steve step out of the shower, and he’s searching for something to wear when Tony says, his voice low and still sleepy, “I found something for you the other day, in my bag.”

 

Steve moves around until Bruce hears him inhale sharply, and he can envision Tony’s cheeky grin when he says, “I know, I’m superior to all human life forms.”

 

“Asshat,” Steve quips back, though it’s weak, and when he finally comes through the kitchen, dressed for work, there’s a sketchpad in his backpack.  He makes a quick, on-the-go breakfast, kisses Bruce goodbye, shouts to Tony, and then heads out.

 

Bruce lounges around until Tony’s getting ready, in jeans and a dirty shirt because he’s working at the yard today, and then he stops being lazy.  They leave together, walking for a while until Bruce starts his rounds and Tony continues on.

 

He visits first with a little boy that had a high fever last week, who is now running wild in the yard, so Bruce only talks with his mother briefly before he’s moving on to a set of teenage twins that had come down with something akin to the flu at the same time.  He’s just leaving their house and making his way down the street when he hears, “¡Disculpa! Por favor! Que alguien me ayude! Por favor!  **(Excuse me!  Please!  Somebody help me!  Please!)** ”

 

Bruce frowns, turning to find a young boy sprinting down the street.  He shifts his bag, stepping out into his line of sight, and waves.  “Doctor!” he shouts, running headlong for Bruce, who kneels when he skids to a stop, panting.  “Mi hermana está herida!  Tienes que ayudar a ella, por favor! **(My sister is hurt!  You have to help her, please!)** ”

 

“Sí, sí, por supuesto, **(Yes, yes, of course)** ” Bruce says calmly, trying for a smile, “¿dónde está? **(where is she?)** ”  The boy just turns around and sprints back the way he came, so Bruce hurries after him, reaching for his earphone only to realize he forgot it.  He shrugs it off—he’s made it most of his life without Jarvis as a crutch, he doesn’t need him now.

 

“De esta manera, aquí! **(This way, hurry!)** ” the boy shouts suddenly, darting left into a house.  Bruce follows him cautiously until he hears a woman’s shrill scream, and then he bursts inside, looking around wildly.

 

To the right, a young woman is lying on a bed, pillows piled behind her, and her knees drawn up near her large belly.  Bruce lets out a breath and closes his eyes, drawing inside of himself and finding the peace there.  It’s been a long, _long_ time since he helped someone through birth, and he’d been so close to Hulking the last time.

 

“Doctor!” the boy cries, and Bruce opens his eyes.

 

“¿Su hermana tiene ningún amigas? **(Does your sister have any friends?)** ”

 

“Sí!”

 

“Ve por ellos dos, de forma rápida, **(Go find two of them, and quickly)** ” Bruce says, and the boy runs off as Bruce approaches the young woman, dropping his bag before he kneels by the woman.  “¿Cuál es su nombre? **(What is your name?)** ” he asks as he reaches out.

 

She grasps his hand as she says, “Sara.  You healed my mother many, many years ago when she was visiting her sister in Brazil.”

 

Bruce is unable to respond at first, just thinking of Brazil, but then he smiles and says, “I do not remember a lot from my time in Brazil, you’ll have to forgive me.”

 

Sara opens her mouth to speak, but then a contraction pulls a scream out of her, and Bruce quickly takes his hand back and gets to work.  When her friends arrive, he sets them to different tasks, and only after he’s peeked under the hem of Sara’s dress and looked back up does he realize her brother is still there.

 

“¿Cuál es su nombre? **(What is your name?)** ” he asks to distract him.

 

“Anthony,” he says, though he’s still staring at his sister, horrified.

 

Bruce almost laughs.  “Anthony, habla usted Inglés, también? **(can you speak English, as well?)** ”

 

“Sí.”

 

“Can you go to the junk yard and find the mechanic?  I need him.”

 

“Yes, mister doctor,” Anthony says before he runs off again.

 

He pauses at the door when Sara screams again, but one of her friends just shoos him off.  “Sara,” Bruce says, rubbing her leg, “You’re going to be okay, and so is your baby.  I need you to breathe with me, okay?  Slowly, now.”

 

He lets his breaths be audible, holding her gaze until she starts to calm, and then he nods, smiling.  “Good, very good.  Just keep breathing like that.  You’re about nine centimeters right now, so we’re not there just yet, but almost.”

 

Sara reaches out a hand, trembling, and Bruce maintains his smile, letting her hold onto his hand tightly.  “Thank you,” she whispers.

 

“Of course.”  Another contraction ripples through her, and Sara squeezes her eyes shut, crying out.  Bruce sits with her, keeping her calm until he hears a commotion rising outside, and he looks over toward the door.

 

One of the other women go to look, though she steps away from the door almost immediately, admitting Anthony and Tony, who closes the door and looks over at Bruce with wide eyes.

 

“Keep her quiet,” he whispers.

 

Bruce instinctively goes into survival mode, turning back to Sara and putting a finger to his lips.  He waves to one of her friends, who comes over, shaking with fear.  “I need you to stay calm.  Find me a clean rag, bring me the boiled ones, and then hide.”

 

She nods, going to do as he’s bid, and then he turns his gaze back to Tony, eyebrows lifting.  He’s at the window, looking out, though a moment later he swears and pulls Anthony away from it.  He whispers to Anthony before coming over to Bruce.

 

“Okay, so, you remember Jarvis did a surface scan of the village before we settled, and so we know about the various drug lords that live here and nearby?  Well, one of them is fucking screaming for you right now.  _What_ did you do?”

 

“Her mother has _cancer_ , Tony, there wasn’t much I _could_ do,” he snaps back, and then he looks away, shaking his head.  “I can’t do this right now,” he says, “I need to focus, and I need you to help me.”  He looks back at Tony, who nods after a moment.  Bruce turns back to Sara and says, “Sara, there are men outside right now who could hurt you if they find us, so I need you to be quiet.  My friend is going to help you.”

 

She nods, though she’s trembling _hard_ , and Bruce looks back down, and he nearly loses composure.  “It’s going to be okay,” he says, meeting her gaze again, and she nods.  “Tony, can you go sit by her head and breathe with her?  Sara, it’s time.  I need you to push.”

 

Bruce hates to think that the last time he delivered a baby, the circumstances were almost exactly the same.  A SHIELD agent had found him and was tearing apart the town looking for him, and he’d started to pack up and leave when the woman grabbed his arm and begged him to stay.  She’d been alone, and Bruce hadn’t been able to look her in the eye and say no.  The baby was barely in her arms before the door was broken open and he was clambering out the window.

 

Thankfully, this one is much easier.  Sara is eerily quiet, swallowing down each scream with terrifying ease, and Bruce doesn’t want to think about what that means.  Anthony stays, helping as much as he can, and, when the baby is nearly born, Bruce looks up at Tony, who nods and goes to check the window.

 

The little infant starts screaming a second before Tony opens the door, and Anthony runs to grab a towel as Bruce carefully lifts it.  “It’s a girl,” he says, looking up at Sara, who breaks suddenly, laughing and tipping her head back, tears streaming freely down her face.  He wraps the baby up and brings it up to her.

 

He sends Anthony away before he finishes up, and then he’s cleaning as much as he can.  He takes the baby only to bathe her, and then he’s helping Sara sit more comfortably.  “Are you okay?” he asks, and she nods.  “I’ll come by to check on you tomorrow, but if you need me before then, send Anthony to the center of the village, and someone will know where to find me.”

 

“Thank you, doctor.”

  
Bruce just smiles and squeezes her hand before leaving, pulling Tony out by the elbow.  “Are they gone?” he asks when they get onto the street.

 

“As far as I can see, yeah.  What the hell, Bruce?  What are we going to do?”

 

“I have to go by there.”

 

“Bruce—”

 

“Just go back to work,” Bruce says, walking away.

 

“Bruce!”

 

He doesn’t respond, though, just continues to walk, and though he knows Tony wants to come after him, he holds himself back, and Bruce is left alone.

 

——

 

Steve is sitting for lunch, alone, when two men drop down on either side of him.  They’re not Cuban, though not quite as Caucasian as he is, and their ringleader doesn’t sit, but instead reaches forward and flicks his dog tags.  “What tour?” he asks.

 

Steve looks up, and he can see the soldier in him by the way he holds himself, but it’s this new soldier, not the ones who knew, but the ones that this new world has created, ones he doesn’t understand.  He sighs, looking back down at his sandwich, and the ringleader laughs, looking to each of his friends.  “Fuckin’ ashamed of it, are ya?  I asked you a fuckin’ question, _soldier_ ,” he says, his words getting clipped and hard.

 

He doesn’t know if it’s the Brooklyn blood or serving under Colonel Phillips, but he doesn’t respond to the authoritative voice like he knows the ringleader wants him to.  With a sigh, Steve looks up again.  He hates this part.  “Iraq,” he lies, and it makes his chest ache every time.

 

“Of course you fuckin’ did, you white trash gringo.  Bet your mam’s real proud of ya now, gettin’ your ass booted off to Cuba.”

 

“My mother is dead, killed in action,” Steve says quietly.

 

“Ooh hoo, bet you I done _fucked_ your mama.”

 

He’s heard all of it, every single goddamn thing they could possibly say to him.  On their way running south, they’d said every cruel thing imaginable to each other to prepare themselves.

 

What he doesn’t expect is for the ringleader to reach forward and _yank_ his tags off.  Steve stares at him with unbridled fury, every muscle in his body tensing.  “James Barnes,” he reads off, “That your lover, pretty boy?  And Stephen Rogers.  Bet you didn’t even see any fuckin’ action,” he says, fist closing over the tags as he smirks down at Steve, “Bet your lover got his ass blown to Kentucky, and you were fuckin’ standin’ next to him, so they purple hearted your ass out of there.  _Liability_ ,” he says before he spits at Steve’s feet, and he sees red a moment before he closes his eyes.

 

He still dreams about Bucky falling sometimes.

 

“See you tonight, gringo,” the ringleader says before the tags slap against Steve’s chest, and the three men are gone.

 

Steve tries so hard to swallow it down, but all he can see is Bucky’s stupid smile after they’d gotten back to base that first time, and he grabs the tags before packing his things away and getting back to work.  He won’t let them win.  He doesn’t care who they are, just that they’re another set of bullies standing in his way.

 

——

 

Tony can’t sit still.

 

This is true for pretty much any day of the week, but today all he can think about is Bruce in a drug lord’s house, and it’s driving him insane.

 

“For fuck’s sake, go crush some cars,” his boss says, tossing him the keys to one of the machines and shoving him off, “You’re making me anxious.”

 

Tony goes to do as he’s told, which is usually a hard task to accomplish, but today he welcomes the mindless work, and it’s getting dark before he realizes how much time has passed.  He has a shift at the bar in an hour, so he finishes up with the cars and then heads home to change, and he’s anxious enough by then that he nearly skips his shift and goes to find Bruce.

 

He refrains, though, because if he’s okay and he shows up, Bruce will never let him forget it, and so he goes down the block to the bar instead.  It’s already pretty busy when he shows up, and so all stray thoughts are put on the back burner as he gets to work, taking orders and filling drinks.  Tony never thought he’d actually enjoy a day job, something he gets regularly paid for, but he almost always enjoys his shifts at the bar, actually appreciates most of the people he talks to and the different things they teaches him that he never considered learning.

 

The hours start to slip by and blend together until Tony hears a familiar tap against the bar, and he spins around, nearly spilling the drink he’s pouring.  He hurries to finish and then ignores everything else as he runs over, hands pushing against the bar as he leans over, kissing Bruce without waiting for him to say anything.  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he says when they part, eyes closed and foreheads pressed together.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers, and Tony kisses him again before settling back on his feet and nodding.

 

Someone yells for him, and he sighs before going back to work.  He manages to get Bruce a drink and some food, but he doesn’t get to talk to him before he’s tapping the bar again and heading out.

 

As the night starts to slow down, he looks more and more at the door, frowning each time Steve doesn’t come through.  It’s not like him to not show up for dinner.  Though he comes home late more often than not, he always stops by for dinner before he’s gone again, and it worries Tony that he’s still out.  Things are starting to unravel, and he’s not sure he can handle it all on his own.

 

——

 

Steve doesn’t do this.  He doesn’t fight angry.

 

All he can think about as he’s wrapping his hands is those guys from earlier, though, and it makes his blood run hot when he thinks about them, when he runs a thumb over his tags before letting them settle against his chest again.  He’ll be damned if he’s putting them beneath his shirt anymore, not here, not when he has nothing left but his service to his country.

 

When he gets into the ring, he’s reminded of how open and easily accessed Natasha and Clint’s fight was, and he’s reminded of how illegal the ones he attends are.  He fights regardless, though, not only because he needs to keep up and continue to learn fight tactics, but because it releases everything inside of him that makes him so deeply angry, that makes him hate this country they’re stuck in.

 

When he gets into the ring, he’s bare-chested, in shorts, barefoot, and with his hands wrapped in dirty white, his tags sitting comfortably against his skin.  They’re a cool reminder of what he’s fighting for, and he nods as a man approaches him.  He’s thinner and a little shorter, but all lean muscle, and Steve’s fought him before, lost to him before, but he’s a good fighter, and he keeps him moving.

 

He touches knuckles with the man before their fight begins, and, for a split second before he lets it all fade away, Steve can hear the crowd screaming and swearing around him, can feel the pulse of bodies, can taste the salty air, and then it’s gone, nothing but his flexing fingers and over eighty years of service to his home.

 

And then they’re fighting.

 

The last two matches he fought against this man, he won, and he’s hoping to make a trifecta of it tonight, and so he puts his all into it, releasing everything from today, everything that’s been hounding at him, everything that stirs that dark pit he tries to shove down.

 

It’s fast and brutal, all quick hands and quicker feet, though they spend the first minute dodging until Steve lands a nasty blow against the man’s shoulder only to receive a jab to the ribs in return.  The fight lasts eight minutes in total, eight minutes of absolute annihilation before Steve delivers an uppercut that sends the other guy sprawling.  When he goes down, the crowd _erupts_ , and Steve spits a glob of blood to the side before he heaves the other guy to his feet and disappears.

 

He never stays to watch those that are left over tear each other apart, but he always makes sure his opponent is safe.  He gets the man out of harm’s reach, finds some water to splash in his face, chats with him for a bit, and then heads out into the cool night, taking in a deep breath when he surfaces.

 

Someone jabs him in the chest, and he looks down to find the short, broad-shouldered man walking away from him.  “You regret that, gringo,” he throws over his shoulder.

 

Steve just glares at his back and turns in the opposite direction.

 

It’s late when he pushes into the bar, though Tony’s still at the bar, nursing a small glass of whiskey and watching an ongoing game of pool.

 

“Hey,” Steve says as he dumps into one of the stools.  Tony glances at him, freezes, and then looks back, mouth agape.

 

“Steve,” he says, staring at him in shock, “What happened?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your face,” he says, coming over and touching the right side of his jaw with one hand, tilting his head up into the light.  “Shit, that’s ugly,” Tony murmurs, thumb swiping over the left side of his jaw.  Steve hisses at the touch, flinching away.  “What’d you do, get in a fight?”  When Steve doesn’t answer, Tony drops his face, forcing Steve to meet his gaze.  “Are you fucking serious?”

 

Steve shrugs one shoulder and is met with more fury than he thought possible in Tony.  It’s quiet, though, which scares Steve the most, and it’s a moment before Tony throws back the rest of his drink and leans in, his voice venomous when he says, “Maybe you and that _asshole_ should get your shit straight because we do _not_ have the luxury for this kind of fucked up bullshit.”  He’s gone before Steve can respond, banging into the kitchen and shouting for someone to cover the bar, “before I kill the fucking gringo.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes at that and takes his leave, going down the block to their house.  He’s halfway there when he hears, “Hey, leche!”

 

“Not tonight, not fucking tonight,” he mutters as he turns, and there they are again, his fellow soldiers in arms.  “ _What_?” he says when they get close.

 

“Oh, you got an attitude with us now, eh?  Bleach boy’s got a fuckin’ attitude, look at that.  Saw you at the fight, kid.  You made some people very angry,” the ringleader says, his grin getting wider as they get closer.

 

“Just fuck off, okay?  I don’t want any trouble,” Steve says, turning away again.

 

He knows better than to turn his back, but he’s so tired, and he just wants to get home.

 

They’re on him in seconds, and he could take them, _he could_ , but he can’t really think of a good reason to stop them.

 

Steve lets the ringleader kick him to his knees, lets the other two hold his arms back as his face is absolutely ruined, his shoulders and chest and stomach beaten until he’s afraid to know what color they’ll be tomorrow, as the blows keep coming until any normal man would be tired, and when they finally stop, breathing hard, fists shaking a little, Steve aches all over.  The other two throw him at the ground, and Steve just stays there, too tired to lift himself up.

 

“Fuckin’ white trash,” the ringleader says, spitting at him before they leave.

 

Steve rolls over onto his back and stares up at the sky, trying desperately to whole up and keep it inside, but he burns with it, and he starts crying a few minutes before he blacks out.

 

Tony finds him like this.

 

After exploding with quite a colorful range of obscenities, he sprints down the street toward their house, barely gets in the front door before he’s screaming for help, and then runs back to Steve.  He’s just skidding to a halt when the door bangs open and Natasha comes running, Clint not far behind her.

 

Tony drops to his knees, checking for a pulse first before he starts checking for any serious injuries.  Clint yells something at Bruce as he appears in the doorway, and Bruce goes back inside to get his supplies ready.  Together, they manage to get Steve off the ground, and they somehow shamble back down the street and into the house.  It takes some effort, but they get him upstairs and in bed before everyone’s splitting up.  Natasha runs downstairs to get whatever supplies they have, Clint goes to boil rags at Bruce’s beckoning, and Tony starts yanking off Steve’s clothes until he’s only in a pair of boxer briefs.

 

When Natasha returns, she helps him clean up the blood, kneeling on Steve’s other side on the bed, and then Bruce is shooing them all away, and they go to sit around the table in the kitchen.  “What the hell happened?” Clint asks as Tony pulls the curtain over the doorway and drops into a seat.

 

“I don’t know,” he admits, shaking his head, “He didn’t look that bad when he came in earlier, and then I found him in the street.  I don’t know what’s going on, guys, I don’t fucking know.”  He threads his fingers in his hair, head dropping forward, and Natasha reaches across, curling a hand over his forearm and squeezing briefly before she sits back.

 

It’s a while before Bruce appears in the kitchen, dumping an armful of bloody rags into the sink.  He stands there, back to them, hands curled around the cool rim, his shoulders shaking, until Tony gets up and curls his arms around him, grounding him.

 

“I can’t be here,” he whispers.

 

“It’ll be okay, Bruce.”

 

“No,” he snaps, twisting out of Tony’s grip and shaking his head, once.

 

“Bruce—”

 

Bruce intends for whatever he yells to be intelligible, but it comes out as a roar, and his eyes flash green as he smacks Tony’s approaching hand away, and Tony gasps, staggering back a step.  They all stare at him, and it’s a second before Bruce realizes how far gone he is.  “Go,” Tony says, stepping aside, but instead, Bruce turns back into the bedroom.

 

The water starts running a few minutes later, and Tony sighs, sagging back against the counter.  “Let me see,” Natasha says, standing and holding out a hand.  Tony offers his own, frowning when she turns it.  “Just a small sprain, I think.  You’ll be fine.”  She releases his hand and then sighs, looking over at Clint.  “We should go.”  He nods, standing.  “If you need us,” she trails off, trying for a small smile.

 

“Thank you,” Tony says before they leave.

 

When he goes back into the bedroom, he looks at the bathroom first, but he needs to be near Steve, needs to touch him and hold onto him and know he’s real, and so he abandons Bruce to go curl up with his soldier, closing his eyes and just willing sleep to take him.

 

——

 

Steve wakes before dawn.

 

His entire body aches, and so he carefully gets out of bed and pads blindly across the room to the bathroom, closing the door before he switches on the light.  He lifts a hand against the glare, squinting, and he waits until he his eyes adjust before he looks at himself in the mirror.  “Shit,” he mutters, leaning forward.

 

His face is a mottled mess of black and blue and yellow, his skin rubbed raw and angry, and, when he tilts his chin up, his neck and chest look much the same.  Steve sighs, opening the mirror in the hopes that he can find something to dull the pain even though he knows it won’t really work.  He ends up with something that looks like it might help, pees, and then stumbles back into the bedroom.

 

Steve stops immediately, just staring.  Tony is alone in bed, bathed in moonlight, the slope of his back shining.  He shifts suddenly, stretching and rolling until he’s on his back, one hand coming up to rest lightly against his stomach.  The arc reactor glows blue and beautiful in the darkness, illuminating Tony’s soft, sleeping face, and Steve feels a sudden, burning urge to be as close to him as he can get.

 

He hurries across the room, nearly trips, catches himself and stumbles onto the bed, trying not to jostle Tony too much as he crawls across the bed toward him, carefully lying on his side and lifting a hand to hover it over the reactor before he lets it settle down against Tony’s.  “I love you,” he whispers before he kisses his shoulder, and then he’s overwhelmed with the urge until he’s pressing closer, mouthing over to the arc reactor, which always tastes like metal and shocks him a little.  He kisses around the sensitive edge, up onto the cool front, and then looks up at Tony, checking to make sure he’s still asleep.

 

Steve shucks off the blankets, pushes them to the end of the bed, and then slowly peels off Tony’s boxer briefs, releasing his sleepy dick.  He kisses up his leg, nips softly at his hip, mouths over his belly, and then stops at a nipple, letting it harden under his tongue.  One of his hands drifts down to brush his knuckles lightly over Tony’s dick, and he smiles softly when it slowly hardens under his touch.

 

Tony makes a soft, shushing noise, his head lolling to the other side.  Steve releases his nipple and makes his way back down, nose skimming along his cock before he reaches back, tongue curling over his balls as he slides a thumb up his cock, rubbing over the head.  “Tony,” he whispers before he licks a stripe up his dick and then takes the head in his mouth, sucking lightly.

 

Tony gasps awake, shuddering as Steve takes him in until the head of his cock nudges the back of his throat.  “Holy _fuck_ ,” Tony groans, looking down at Steve, “What time is it?”

 

“Be quiet,” Steve says as he pulls off, letting Tony’s cock slap down against his belly.

 

“Jesus,” Tony lets out, “Okay, sure, whatever.”

 

Steve shifts back up until he can kiss him, giving him time to really wake up, but he doesn’t feel close enough, still feels that urge swimming beneath his skin.  “Tony,” he gasps into his neck, and Tony immediately wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly.

 

“I’m here.  I got you,” Tony murmurs, and Steve almost, _almost_ , breaks apart, but instead he takes a deep, trembling breath before he kisses the shell of his ear and pulls back, looking down at him.

 

“I love you,” he says again, brushing a thumb over Tony’s cheek, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Tony says, smiling, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Please don’t,” Steve whispers before he’s kissing him again.

 

They have slow, sleepy sex.  Steve takes his time stretching him, spreads him wide and wrecks him before he brings him back down with warm, wet kisses up his front, and then he’s sliding inside, and Tony makes this glorious, low noise as his back bows off the bed, and Steve just wants to stay here forever, to be here with him.

 

When they tumble back into each other’s arms, Tony is already half asleep, and Steve just holds him tight and watches the sun rise.

 

——

 

It’s still early when they’re woken again.  Steve hadn’t meant to drift off, but he’s been so exhausted lately.  Tony groans softly, though, arm coming out to thud against his chest, and he jerks out of sleep, looking over.  Bruce is perched on the edge of the bed, his back to them, and Steve reaches out, around Tony, to rub at his arm.  “Hey,” he says when Bruce doesn’t turn.

 

When he does, Steve’s heart drops.  He looks on the verge of tears, and he’s trembling lightly.  “Tony,” Steve hisses, giving him a shove before he pushes upright.  “Are you okay?” he asks Bruce, fear flooding through him.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to—I don’t—I’m _sorry_.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Steve shushes him, trying for a smile, “It’s okay.  We understand.  Come here.”

 

Tony grunts when Steve pulls at Bruce, coaxing him in between them, though he peels open an eye and squints at them.  “You being stupid again?” he says, looking at Bruce, who just rolls his eyes at him.

 

“Yes, Tony,” he says, and the tone alone makes Steve laugh, though it’s soft, and it manages to pull a small smile out of Bruce.

 

“You two,” is all Steve says before they hunker down again and waste the rest of the morning snuggling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s our man,” Tony says softly as he approaches, so Steve slides his arms around both of them, bringing them close as he presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek first and then Bruce’s.

Things start to get better.  They always have these ups and downs, periods where everyone is okay, everyone has taken a breath and resettled.  They all hate that they have to do that, that sometimes it all gets so overwhelming that they have to figure out how to readjust themselves in Cuba, how to remember this isn’t New York.

 

The days start to blur together again until they’ve been there another month without really realizing it.  Natasha and Clint only fight once during the month, and it’s strange again, to the point that Steve is wondering whether he should approach them or not.  The three knuckleheads at the construction site back off after Steve punches one of them out cold on the first blow, the drug lord backs off Bruce a little after he sits down with them—the day he’d come back saying he’d had a civilized conversation with him about his mother’s condition, Tony had just sat down and stared at him in awe before demanding to know how he’d managed it—and Tony starts taking it easy, slowing things down until they’re not worrying as much.

 

Tony has a day off when Steve and Bruce are at work, though, and so he takes full advantage, sleeping in a little before he takes a long shower, actually makes breakfast, drinks tea instead of coffee, and then he’s knocking on the lovers’ door before he heads downstairs.  He waits by the window, peeking out, until only Clint comes down, and though Tony frowns, he doesn’t ask about it until they’re downstairs and he drops into his chair.  He spins, looking over at Clint, who is trying his best to ignore him, though he sighs when Tony doesn’t break his stare.

 

“What, Stark?” he says, looking over.

 

“Everything okay with you and red?”

 

Clint sighs again, nodding.  “Yeah, it’s—Nat just doesn’t feel good, it’s fine.”  He turns away, but Tony frowns, pulling his legs up underneath him and maintaining his stare.  Clint takes longer to break this time, but eventually, he lifts his glare to meet Tony’s gaze.  “ _What_?” he snaps, and Tony lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Defensive,” Tony says, and Clint’s jaw moves, his whole face hard.  Tony sighs and puts down his tea mug before getting up and crossing through the makeshift lab to him.  He takes Natasha’s usual chair and sits down.  “If you don’t talk to me, I’m going to channel my inner Bruce.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Clint says, rolling his eyes and turning back to his computer.

 

“Jarvis, отключите питание, **(Jay, kill the power)** ” Tony says, and the lab goes dark before it brightens again, though only with a dim, blue glow.

 

“Tony—”

 

“Shut up, and listen, this shit doesn’t happen often,” Tony cuts him off, his voice sharp, and it’s enough that Clint falls quiet, just looking at him.  Tony looks away, quiet for long moments before he turns back, and he doesn’t mean to let it show, but he can see in the sudden change in Clint that he can see how much this place has beaten Tony down.  “We left together,” Tony begins quietly, “We made that decision as a team, and we found somewhere that we could be safe, _together_.  And—and it’s not fucking like that anymore.  Do you think Steve and Bruce have any idea what we’re doing down here?  Fuck no.  Last month, I found out Bruce has been helping a high drug lord because his mother has cancer.  Steve is just pretending he doesn’t participate in an underground, very illegal fight club, Tyler Durden style, and Bruce doesn’t know, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to tell him, give him something else to worry about.  It’s not okay—it’s unhealthy the amount of shit we keep from each other.  But if you and Natasha need us, then—Clint, we’re a fucking team, okay, and I know I’m not the best at playing with others, but we’re here.  We came here together, and we’ll fucking leave together, so whatever’s going on—we’re here.”

 

It takes a moment, but Clint nods, and Tony claps his shoulder before getting up and going back over to his computer.  He sticks an earphone in both ears to give Clint some privacy and so that he can work solely with Jarvis, and then he’s cracking his back and settling in.  “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

 

“Sir, you appear to have a message from Director Fury.”

 

Tony smirks.  “Let’s get to work, then.”  Jarvis pulls the power back up, and Tony dives in, hacking into SHIELD, picking out a name and shadowing the agent until he knows the basics, and then he takes control, fucking around until Fury finds him.

 

_Stark spangled banner._

_We need a new code word,_ Tony types back, shaking his head.

 

_Where are you?_

_Not happening, eye patch.  What’s going on?  In detail._ Tony sits back and waits.

 

Two minutes tick by before, _Do you have comms?_

_Are you secure?_

_I’m still fucking Director, Stark.  Patch me in._

Tony hacks in a little farther, sifts around through Fury’s files, checks the security, boosts it as much as he can with his limited resources, and then he sets about destroying the agent he’d been shadowing before he jumps on a ghost drive, creates a communication line, and takes a deep breath before issuing a call.

 

“Тем не менее директор? Должны ли мы беспокоиться?  **(Still the Director?  Should we worry?)** ” he asks aloud, and Clint looks over.

 

“You learned Russian?” Fury snaps back with, and Tony grins crookedly, moving back through as a ghost to Fury’s files.

 

“Jarvis, следить, прервать и оповещения для любой подозрительной деятельности, **(Jarvis, monitor, abort and alert any suspicious activity)** ” he says softly, ignoring Fury as he starts to yell at him for not paying attention.  He waits until Jarvis has a steady presence monitoring the firewalls before he stalls, staring at his main monitor.  “I’m opening a video call,” he says, and Fury remains silent, waiting.

 

Tony switches languages, knowing Fury’s got a translator working by now, jumping to Latvian, “Palaist noslēpt programmu, kamēr mēs esam apstiprinājuši direktora pašreizējo atmosfēru.  **(Run a disguise program, hide until confirmation of the Director’s current atmosphere.)** ”  He waits for confirmation, and then reroutes the comms line to pull up a video on a secondary monitor.  Fury flickers to life a second before he does, a little box in the corner that’s distorted enough that he can’t recognize himself or his surroundings.

 

“What the hell, Stark?”

 

“Precautions,” he says, reaching through to the video call and opening up a viral scan.

 

“Clear, sir,” Jarvis says after a few minutes, and he nods.

 

“Get rid of the disguise,” Tony says, and the distortion falls away.

 

“Nice beard,” Fury comments as Tony comes to life.

 

“Trying to blend in.  Clint looks like a fuckin’ Texan, but Bruce is rockin’ the third world country look,” Tony says, not meeting his gaze as he continues to hack.  “Are you at SHIELD?”

 

“I am.  The room’s secure.”

 

“How about the surrounding rooms?”

 

“We’re fine, Stark.  Where are you?”

 

“I think that’s still classified.  Start dishing, eye patch.”

 

“Anthony—”

 

“ _Hey_ ,” Tony says, shaking his head as he cuts the call and destroys the power in all surrounding offices, including Fury’s, though he leaves his computer working before he pulls the call back up.  “Listen, _asshole_ ,” he says when Fury glares at him, “I had no love for SHIELD, but _now_ —I’ll put all of you in the fucking ground when we get back.”

 

“ _When_ are you coming back?”

 

“This isn’t how this works,” Tony says, straightening and facing Fury, “You answer my questions, with no fluff, and you show me some fucking respect.  I will disconnect all comm lines in SHIELD until you are left _drowning_ in the wake of my chaos.  Even here, with barely enough scraps to put together a shit pile disguised as a lab, I can _destroy_ you.  And if you think I’ll get reprimanded by the man that you built up only to rip apart, you can think again.  Cap will just sit by and watch.  You drove us out of our home, and, when we come back, it will not be peacefully.  So tell me what happened, and then fuck off.”

 

“I don’t know,” Fury admits, and though he’s clearly furious, he lets Tony have his way, “ _I_ know it was Mystique, but every other agent that brought that point to light has been killed.  Someone is tearing apart SHIELD from the inside and promoting hatred against the Avengers.  If you come back peacefully, you’ll be killed.”

 

“SHIELD needs to be taken down.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Tony looks away, thinking, and he’s about to turn back when Jarvis says, “Sir, security breach.”

 

“Kill the line.”

 

“Sir, I—I _can’t_.”

 

“Watch your back,” Tony says, meeting Fury’s gaze before he jumps in, fingers barely touching the keys as he goes, Jarvis pulling the hologram monitors in closer until Tony can see the three of them together.  “Shit,” he says before lifting a hand.

 

Clint dives in with him, ghosting everything he can find as Tony attacks the breach, throwing up firewalls and hacking violently until he lets out a growl and then finally fires a kill command, wiping out everything in a small radius.  Jarvis contains the command until it’s complete, and then Tony sags back against his chair.

 

“The fuck was that?” Clint asks, looking over.

 

“SHIELD has been compromised.  Jarvis, trace the line.  Find out what the hacker knows, destroy all evidence, and then _find_ whoever that was.”

 

“And when I do, sir?”

 

“Execute.”

 

And they don’t talk about it because a good handful of the deaths at SHIELD are because of them.

 

——

 

That night, Tony picks up a shift at the bar to clear his head, Steve comes home late because he has a fight that he _doesn’t_ get the shit beat out of him at, and Bruce ends up spending the night alone.  When he finally gets home from a long, grueling day, he’s sweated through his clothes, so he takes an obnoxiously lengthy shower, makes a small dinner for himself, and then curls up with a book.  He’s just drifting off when it occurs to him that they should do something together, just to take their minds off everything.  And so, he starts setting up a plan, leaves a note for Tony in the fridge and one for Steve in the bathroom, and then goes to bed.

 

In the morning, when he wakes, Steve’s already up and showering, and Tony’s awake, though he’s pretending he’s not, and so Bruce kisses him until he’s interested, and then gets out of bed.  Tony shouts a few rude things at him as he leaves to go to the bathroom, but Bruce just smiles and ignores him.

 

While Steve and Tony are still busy getting ready, Bruce does downstairs to invite Natasha and Clint, and it’s not long before they’re all gathering outside.  Tony digs out his jeep from under a tarp, and they pile in.  It’s not a long drive, though it’s the first time they’ve really been _out_ of the village, and so they take their time, just cruising along until the beach starts to unroll before them.  Tony finds somewhere out of the way to park, and Bruce thinks they might not be allowed on this section of the beach, but they head down along a steep, rocky path and onto the soft sand.

 

And, just like that, it doesn’t matter where they are because they’re together.

 

Clint lets out a war cry and tackles Natasha, throwing her over his shoulder.  She shrieks, and though they all know she can take him down in a few seconds, she lets him run toward the water with her.  He drops her a few feet from the edge, and they strip down to their underwear before running in.  Natasha launches herself at Clint as soon as they’re to their waists, and they go over laughing.

 

Steve drops their bags on the sand near their clothes before reaching for the hem of his shirt.  Tony whistles when he takes it off, so Steve throws it at his face.  Tony just laughs and starts disrobing, as well.  He pauses at his shirt, looking around, and Steve catches the anxiety that flashes across his face.  “We’re safe,” he says softly, and Tony nods, looking up at him.

 

“Yeah, I know, I just—if anyone sees.”

 

“We’ll keep an eye out, just in case.”

 

After a moment, he nods again and lifts the shirt over his head.  Steve is taken aback for a second at Tony’s physique—he knew he was getting bigger from all the physical labor and training with Natasha, but he hadn’t quite noticed the difference.  He’s all muscle now, his shoulders wide and hard, the slope of his back lined, and his skin is so much darker.  His hair, too, is darker, though the grey is starting to come in more than just at his temples, and it’s curlier now, more natural, though he still keeps it short.  From behind, Steve’s not sure he would recognize him.

 

“That’s right, enjoy the view,” Tony says with a wicked smirk before he reaches for Bruce, tugging him off, leaving Steve to watch them go.

 

Even Bruce is different.  Though he’s littler than both of them, he’s lean and fit now, his skin not quite as dark as Tony’s, though getting there, and Steve can see the shift of his muscles when he shoves Tony.  His hair is longer, much, much curlier, and threaded through with grey, and his beard is getting a little long, too, in need of a trim, but Steve likes it sometimes, likes listening to Tony giggle whenever it scratches against him.

 

Smiling, Steve heads after them.  “There’s our man,” Tony says softly as he approaches, so Steve slides his arms around both of them, bringing them close as he presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek first and then Bruce’s.

 

They spend most of their time in the water, laughing and swimming and chasing each other around.  They ride the waves and play random games, and they only get out to eat the picnic Bruce packed.  Eventually, though, as the sun’s starting to dip down, Tony’s yawning and leaning on Steve, arms looped around his neck, head resting against his back.

 

“Tired?” Steve asks, reaching down to kiss one of Tony’s hands.

 

“Mm,” Tony hums in response, burrowing a little, nose rubbing between Steve’s shoulder blades.

 

Steve laughs softly at him before reaching back, shifting his weight in the water until he can get a good hold on him, and he bends down a little, lifting Tony onto his back.  Tony tries to swear at him, but it just comes out as a slurred mess, so Steve laughs again, tells him to be quiet, and starts carrying him back through the water.

 

They’ve just reached the shoreline when Steve hears him give a soft, mumbling noise, and he’s heavy enough that he safely assumes Tony’s fairly close to sleep.  “Hey,” he says, shrugging one shoulder up, “Not yet.”

 

“Fine,” he murmurs, lips brushing against Steve’s neck.

 

He gets him back up to their things, coaxes Tony into getting off so they can dry up and get dressed, and when Steve next looks to him, he’s sitting cross-legged in the sand, chin in his hand, eyes drooping.  Steve smiles and calls for the others, and, by the time they’re all ready to go, Tony’s half asleep.

 

“Come on, you big lug,” Steve says, hauling him to his feet.  He winds an arm around Tony, who leans against him, and Bruce smiles at them, gathering their things before they make their way back up to the jeep.

 

Tony whines as they approach the rocks, so Steve kneels before him, laughing when Tony lets out a soft, “huzzah!”  He carries Tony up the rocks this way, deposits him in the backseat, and then goes to help Bruce pack away everything.  Bruce gets in back with Tony because Steve’s too big to fit, and so Steve takes the wheel, looking around for the lovers.  They’re still at the back, talking in hushed tones, and Steve turns his gaze to Bruce, who shrugs.

 

They join them soon enough, Clint taking the passenger seat.  The drive back is quiet with Tony asleep and Clint fading fast, leaning against the door.  They’re about ten minutes out when Natasha lifts a hand to her mouth suddenly, trembling.  Bruce reaches for her other hand, taking it between both of his.  He turns his head and whispers, “It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not,” she says, trying to keep her voice low, but her eyes are filling, her throat raw with trying to contain it all.

 

“Have you come to a decision?”  She looks over at him, eyes wide.  “He didn’t tell me,” Bruce says, releasing her hand.

 

“Bruce—”

 

“I can find someone for you, if you’d like, but—” he breaks off, gaze shifting to the window.

 

“I’m pregnant,” Natasha whispers abruptly, and Bruce nods.

 

He glances at the rear view mirror, but Steve is keeping a quiet composure.

 

“I know,” Bruce says, looking back to her.

 

“I can’t have a baby, not here.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Bruce, I don’t know what to do.  I’ve—I’ve never thought of having a family before, but with Clint—I could imagine that life, but not here.  I can’t do that.”

 

“As I said, if you’re uncomfortable, I can do some research, find someone, but if you want, I did learn, in India, from some very skilled women.”

 

Natasha looks away again, biting her lip.  Clint’s hand appears suddenly, sliding between the door and seat, and Natasha reaches for it, fingers tangling tightly with his.  He squeezes her hand, thumb stroking over her skin, before Natasha nods.  “Can we talk about it later?”

 

“Of course,” Bruce says, offering her a small smile, “Will you be free tomorrow?  I can come down before my rounds.”

 

“Thank you,” Natasha murmurs, and then she’s taking her hand back and wiping her face, arms folding across her chest as she looks out the window.

 

They get back to the village a few minutes later, and Natasha is composed by then, her face a steel mask.  She and Clint go off together, and Bruce watches them go from the back, frowning.  Tony appears at his elbow suddenly, though, and he looks so mischievous that Bruce is halfway to fearful, but mostly intrigued.  “Yes, Tony?” he says, turning his gaze on him.

 

“Ever heard of body worship?”  Bruce cocks his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow.  “Oh, come on,” Tony says, his grin getting wider, “Don’t tell me that watching Steve in the water, fucking _glistening_ , those big ass muscles—shit, I’m hard again.”

 

Tony shifts, adjusting himself, and Bruce struggles to maintain his cool, but Tony’s eyes are so dark already, and he just wants to grab him and shove him against the car.

 

“Hey,” Steve says as he comes around, and it’s like a ticking time bomb.  Tony looks over and up at Steve, teeth scraping over his bottom lip, and Bruce shifts his gaze up to Steve, too, in his blue shirt stretched across his hard chest.  “Guys,” Steve says, his voice low and drawn out, like a slow drawl.  Tony and Bruce look at each other at the same time, nod, and then grab their things and Steve.

 

They barely make it through the front door to their flat before Tony’s pulling at Steve, leaning up and kissing along his jaw and up to his ear, biting it lightly before he drops back down onto his heels and yanks open his jeans.  Bruce dumps their things on the table in the kitchen before reaching for the hem of Steve’s shirt, lifting it up until he raises his arms.  He looks between them, a little bewildered but mostly turned on, as Tony steps closer, dropping to his knees as he tugs down Steve’s jeans and boxer briefs and as Bruce kicks the door shut.

 

Tony grins up at Steve before leaning forward, taking his half hard cock in his mouth, drawing him in until Steve groans and threads his fingers through Tony’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly.  Bruce steps forward, arms curling around, one palm sliding down to scratch lightly at his stomach, the other coming up to press against his sternum.  He leaves a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along Steve’s shoulder and up to his neck, biting at his jaw.

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve groans, head tipping to the side to give Bruce better access.  Tony pulls back and sucks at the head before letting his tongue curl around and back, teasing at Steve’s balls.  Bruce takes advantage, biting at the back of Steve’s shoulder and _sucking_ , bruising him.  A tremor runs through him, his nails scraping against Tony’s head before Tony stands, reaching for Bruce, who goes, letting Tony kiss him over Steve’s shoulder, and he can taste Steve on his tongue.  When they part, Tony turns, _sauntering_ off to the bedroom, and Bruce just laughs, kisses Steve’s shoulder, and follows him.

 

“Fuck,” Steve says as he watches them go, and it’s a second before he can collect himself and go into the bedroom, where Tony is naked on the bed, slowly jerking himself.  Bruce comes out of the bathroom as Steve stops just inside the bedroom, just staring.

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony whines, hips rolling up off the bed.  Bruce lets out a small noise and crosses the room, stripping down and climbing onto the bed.  Steve follows, and he means to take control, to slide on top of Tony, but Bruce grabs at him, hauling him over onto his back, and Steve wonders, briefly, if they planned this because then Tony’s settling between his knees, putting his mouth to use while Bruce takes the lead up top, one thumb hooking under Steve’s jaw and tilting his head back.  He kisses him like Tony, fast and hard, tongue pressing in and tasting him, and Steve groans, trying to reach closer even as Bruce holds him back.

 

Tony kisses along his hips and down to one thigh, nipping lightly before he mouths over to his cock, licking up and taking him in his mouth.  He reaches up a hand to slap at Bruce, who pulls away from Steve slowly, wrecks his mouth until it’s swollen and wet, and then he bites his bottom lip before shifting away to find the lube.  He tosses it down to Tony, who pulls away only to slick his fingers, and then he wraps his lips tight around Steve’s dick, cool fingers skimming over his balls to rub at his entrance.

 

Steve moans loudly, tipping away from Bruce as Tony slides a finger inside.  Bruce kisses down to his chest, teeth scraping over his peck before he licks over a nipple, and Steve shudders, the muscles in his abdomen fluttering.  Tony pushes a second finger in, stretching them as Bruce mouths away and down, sucking a bruise just above his stomach.

 

Tony pulls off suddenly, fingers coming out with a slick pop, and Steve whines, body going slack as he sinks back into the bed.  Tony looks up at Bruce, licking his lips, and he says something, but Bruce is so distracted by his red mouth that he doesn’t hear him.  “What?” he says, and before Tony can respond, he’s learning forward and pulling him in for a fierce kiss.  Tony gets lost in him until, without realizing, Bruce is on his back and Tony is straddling him, slowly rolling their hips together.

 

Finally, though, he pulls away, gasping.  “Bruce,” he pants, pressing their temples together, but Bruce is looking past Tony to Steve, who shifts over onto his knees.  Bruce tips his head back up to kiss Tony a second before Steve’s fingers curl around his hips, lifting him up until his ass is in the air, and then he spreads him, nails digging into his ass as he leans forward, licking a stripe over him, coming back down to suck at his entrance.

 

Tony breaks away from Bruce, jerking forward as he shouts, “Holy _fuck_ ,” and Bruce just grins and threads his fingers through Tony’s hair, holding him steady.  Steve slowly pushes with his tongue until it slides in, and Tony cries out, fist clenching in the sheets, the other scraping over Bruce’s chest.

 

Steve fucks Tony’s ass with his tongue until he’s whimpering, his whole body trembling, and then he carefully pulls back, leaning up on his heels and groaning as he wraps a hand around his throbbing cock and squeezes.  “Bruce,” he says, wrist flicking upward so that his thumb passes over the swollen head.

 

Bruce barely pauses before he’s shifting, legs spreading a little wider as he grabs at Tony, who just goes, straightening and letting Bruce guide him down onto his cock.  Tony moans as he takes him in, back curling as his head tips back.  Steve lets out a soft noise at the sight, jerking himself slowly, trying to come down away from the edge.  Tony is already close, and so his thrusts are already fast, thighs tightening as he rises and falls, Bruce’s dick filling him, but the angle’s not right, not where he wants it, and he whines, tipping back further, trying to take him in farther.  “Bruce,” he says, his voice high and thin, toes curling as he reaches back for Steve to steady himself.  Instead, Steve leans him in the other direction until he’s pressed, back to chest, against Tony, and Bruce thrusts up suddenly.

 

Tony keens, burying his face in Bruce’s neck, trying desperately not to come as Bruce’s cock slides over his prostate.  “Fuck,” he pants as Steve pulls back, biting and kissing his way down Tony’s spine.  “Guys, I’m—fuck, I’m close,” he says, trembling.

 

Bruce groans, filling Tony a last time before he reaches for his hips, pulling him off.  “Steve,” he says, foot tapping against Steve’s thigh.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Fuck— _yes_.  Fuck him,” Bruce says, fisting a hand over his cock.

 

Steve doesn’t ask twice before he’s reaching for Tony, who pushes up onto his elbows, _presenting_ , and Steve kisses the small of his back before he slams inside, taking a moment for both of them to adjust.  It’s fast, Steve fucking into Tony _hard_ , hips slapping obscenely against his ass until Tony’s whimpering and pressing his forehead against Bruce’s shoulder, knees sliding out so he’s spread wider.  “Steve,” he gasps, his whole body locking up, “Steve, fuck, I’m close, so fucking close—I’m gonna— _shit_.”

 

Bruce’s breaths hitch upward suddenly, and Tony opens his eyes, looking down the plane of his body to see Bruce jerking himself, the head of his cock passing through the circle of his hand.  He lifts a knee until it presses against Tony’s side, and Tony is so distracted by him that, when Steve shifts, sliding in deeper, Tony feels the tug without warning, and he shouts, lifting his head as he tries to press impossibly closer to Steve.

 

“Steve, Steve, fuck, Steve, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—” and then his voice tapers off in a low moan as Steve’s cock slams in and then stills, his fingers bruising against Tony’s hips as he fills him, head tipping back.  Tony’s orgasm hits him like a fucking tidal wave, crashing through him and stealing the breath from him as he comes in thick ropes across Bruce’s chest.  It’s Bruce’s undoing, watching them, and he comes with a gasp, hips jerking upward.

 

When Steve pulls out, Tony lets out a quiet moan, body heavy and exhausted.  Steve gives him a soft push so that he tumbles over, sprawling out on his back.  “Stay there,” Steve says to Bruce, leaning down to kiss him before he climbs off the bed and goes to wet a hand towel to clean them up with.  Bruce is drifting dangerously close to sleep when he gets back, and Steve can’t help but smile.  He opens his eyes when Steve wipes the mess from his stomach, though, smiling lazily up at him.

 

From the side, Tony lifts a hand and says, “Good job, team.”

 

Bruce snorts, Steve shakes his head, and Tony starts giggling to himself.  When no one high fives him, though, he starts whining, so they both take turns before Steve crawls into bed between them, laughing when they both turn at the same time, snuggling closer.  There’s an exchange of quiet goodnight kisses—Tony mouths across Steve’s chest before he kisses Bruce and then proceeds to make out with Steve until Bruce starts kissing Steve’s jaw, and he pulls away to let Bruce have his wicked way with him—before they settle, and it’s not long before the three of them are out cold, tangled in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just thought I’d drop this one by early. I don’t actually know if there are many of you reading this, but, at any rate, I wanted to make a note about my upcoming project. I am currently 39k deep in a superhusbands college au, which also features Bruce/Betty. I should mention that I’m 39k deep, and it’s only freaking November of their freshman year, and they aren’t scheduled to actually start dating until their sophomore year. Just because they’re not dating doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty happening because my god, they’re such horny teenagers. At any rate, I’ll probably start posting for it once this is finished, so keep an eye out for that! I’m very excited about it, and it’s kind of been taking over my life lately, and I’m really just so in love with it. Anyway, don’t forget to leave your thoughts on this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, they’re a little broken, but they’re healing.

In the morning, Tony wakes up because he’s being tag teamed, Steve’s mouth on his cock and Bruce’s tongue tracing the shell of his ear.  They barely give him time to catch his breath before they’re taking advantage of him being awake, and then, when it’s all over, Tony is lying sprawled on his front, panting as he tries to catch his breath, and they just up and leave him.

 

“What the fuck,” he whines, lifting his head up a little, “Seriously?  Wake me up, fuck me, and then disappear?  Jesus Christ, I’m rubbing off on you two too much, this is—shit, that was awesome.”  He keeps rambling as he rolls over onto his back, hand slapping against his chest as he tips his head back.  “Woo fuckin’ hoo to me.  Oh,” he adds when he hears the water turn on and the fridge opens.  He weighs his options and calls out, “Bruce, make me breakfast.”

 

“Wrong one,” Steve says from the kitchen.

 

Tony rolls his eyes and lets out an audible breath.  “Whatever,” he grumbles, “Make me food, I’m starving now.  Ah, fuck— _shower_ , yes.”

 

He rolls again until he nearly tumbles out of bed, manages to get to his feet, and staggers toward the bathroom.  He gets handsy in the shower and presses Bruce up against the wall, licking into his mouth until they’re both struggling to breathe, and Tony flips around, hands braced on the wall.  “Tony,” Bruce groans, running a hand up his back.

 

“Come on,” he says, head tipping forward, “Steve had me this morning, your turn, cowboy.”

 

“Fucking hell,” Bruce murmurs, leaning forward to kiss between his shoulders before he’s stretching him quickly.  He’s still loose limbed and open from this morning, so it’s an easy fuck, Bruce sliding in and grabbing at one of Tony’s shoulders, his other hand traveling to his hip.

 

Somehow, they fit three people into the shower.  Steve appears when he hears them, pulls open the door, and Tony starts to shake his head because there’s no way, there’s no fucking way, but then Bruce is leading him back, and _somehow_ , it works.  Steve drops back against the wall, Tony pressing close, and he jerks them both, his big hands wrapped around their cocks.  Tony is loud and shaking when he finally comes, sagging against Steve as Bruce slams in and stills, and then Steve’s head is thudding back against the wall, and then the water’s cold.

 

Steve gets out, pulling Tony with him, and they take turns showering quickly before they’re getting ready together, which mostly means Steve and Bruce are getting ready because they kind of jostle Tony around until he’s dumping onto the bed and groaning.  “My dick hurts,” he mumbles into the mattress, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

 

“You are the youngest person here,” Bruce reminds him, giving his ass a soft slap as he goes by.  Steve’s jeans are hanging loose on his hips, unbuttoned, and Bruce pulls him by the belt loops, stealing a kiss that Steve gets lost in.  Tony may have the wicked mouth, but Bruce kisses like the sun, and Steve and Tony can never hold their own against him.

 

Steve’s fingers thread up into his curls, cradling his head as they kiss long and slow until Bruce is stepping in closer, one hand sliding up under his shirt to scratch lightly at his muscled torso, the other sliding down to cup over his half hard cock, squeezing lightly.  Tony whines from the bed, rolling his hips down, and Steve laughs, pulling away to look over at him as Bruce mouths down his throat until he bites at the hollow there, sucking, and Steve groans, nails scraping against Bruce’s scalp.

 

Sometimes, mornings are like this.  Sometimes, things have been so chaotic that they can’t seem to get enough of each other, that they’re all running late because they can’t stop _touching_.  Most often, Steve and Bruce gang up on Tony, and when they’re feeling devious together, Tony and Bruce on Steve, and, on quiet mornings, sometimes Steve and Tony on Bruce.  Sometimes, they need to be constantly, and frequently, reminded of the love that they share.

 

Bruce is feeling starved for attention, though, and so he reaches back up to slip beneath Steve’s boxer briefs.  Steve’s head tips back in response, a low, long, throaty moan pulling out of him, and Tony just swears at them and clambers toward the head of the bed, banging around until he finds lube.

 

It happens that Steve’s jeans drop to the floor, Bruce shoves him down onto the bed, and then Tony steals him away, kissing him fast and hard until Bruce is caging him in even as Steve shifts over onto his knees, mouthing down Bruce’s spine.  They have slow, bruising sex, Bruce trapped between them, and they don’t do this often, don’t fuse together until they’re one, limbs tangled until no one’s sure what belongs to them, so close the heat between them is suffocating but _so good_.

 

Steve whispers it against Bruce’s ear, and then Tony’s chucking the lube at him, grinning like it’s fucking Christmas, and Steve stretches Bruce slow and easy, works him up until he’s trembling, pressed against Tony, and then he kisses the small of his back before he stretches Tony, giving Bruce a moment to clear his head.  It happens all at once, Bruce sliding into Tony, Tony bowing up toward him, Steve pressing his forehead against Bruce’s shoulder as he carefully eases inside of him, Bruce gasping and bowing down toward Tony, and then they’re moving as one, mouths and hands ghosting over each other.

 

When they finally collapse in a tangled, messy heap, they’re sweaty and sticky, and Tony starts laughing, loud and clear, such a beautiful noise that Steve can’t help but bury his face in his side and shake with laughter, as well, until Bruce just bursts with it, and that’s how they spend the morning laughing until they’re crying, eventually ending up _back_ in the shower.

 

Even then, they can’t stop touching, Tony laying kisses on their naked skin just before they cover it with articles of clothing, Steve threading his fingers through Tony’s unruly hair, trying to calm it down, Bruce trying and failing to help because Tony won’t stop fidgeting, and it ends up that Tony starts giggling again, and he can’t put on his pants because he keeps falling over, so he just goes into the kitchen with nothing but a shirt on to make breakfast.  He whips up something grand, Bruce complains about him wasting all the groceries, Steve promises that Tony will go out with Bruce later to buy groceries, Tony makes a bizarre guffawing noise, and then they’re settling into a large array of food.

 

Afterward, Steve kisses them each goodbye, grabs his backpack, and heads out.  Bruce is close behind him, though he lingers on Tony’s mouth, pulling them both back down until Tony’s smile is wide and bright.  “I have to go downstairs to talk to Clint about a cough he’s had, but do you want to join me for rounds and shopping later?”

 

“Sure,” Tony says, so Bruce kisses him a last time and then leaves.

 

His smile starts to fade the closer he gets to the second floor, and it’s gone by the time he knocks on the lovers’ door.  He hears, very quietly, Natasha’s voice, “Oh god,” before footsteps pad across the floor.  Clint answers the door, looking exhausted and miserable.

 

“Hey,” he says, opening the door wider.

 

Bruce takes a deep breath and steps inside.

 

——

 

When Bruce retrieves Tony from upstairs, his hands are shaking so bad that he can’t think of a viable excuse, and so he tells him.  They’re outside and walking down the street when Bruce reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together, and says, “I need to tell you something, but you can’t say anything to Steve.  I’ll—I’ll tell him eventually, but right now, I shouldn’t even be telling you, and—and I think maybe Steve already knows, but—Tony, Natasha’s pregnant.”

 

Tony doesn’t say anything at first, though, when he does, Bruce is relieved.  “And she asked you to abort it.  Are you okay with that?”

 

Bruce nods slowly.  “It’s her and Clint’s decision, and they’ve both agreed that, while they might wish to start a family together in the future, starting one here, in exile, in a dangerous part of the country, is so far from a good environment.  It’s—it’s going to happen tomorrow.”

 

“We should have a team dinner, then, distract them for a while,” Tony says.  Bruce looks over, and it all disappears because Tony is smiling at him, and as long as he has his men, he’ll be okay no matter what they face.

 

They go to see Sara, who is beaming when she answers the door, and she makes tea for them while Bruce examines her little Irene, who smiles and gurgles her way through the checkup.  They stay with Sara for a while, having tea and chatting, before they’re off to make their way around the village.  Bruce makes rounds in four separate villages, all within a small distance of each other, though the drug lord is in the town closest, the biggest of the four, and he asks Tony to start shopping in the market as they approach.

 

“Bruce—”

 

“If anyone, they would know who you are,” Bruce says quietly, “I’m not asking because I don’t think you can’t hold your own or because I feel some ridiculous need to do this myself—I’m asking because I’m afraid they’ll recognize you and jeopardize our safety here.  I won’t be long.”

 

Tony reluctantly agrees, and so he splits up with Bruce, going to the market while he visits with the drug lord’s mother.  Tony’s been in the market for barely a minute when he hears, “Hey, mecánico! ¿Dónde está el doctor hoy? **(Hey, mechanic!  Where is the doctor today?)** ”

 

“Estar ocupado a un médico! **(Busy being a doctor!)** ” he responds, and an elderly woman laughs.

 

“Hombre divertido. Él ama a mis tomates. Ven aquí, pruebe uno. **(Funny man.  He loves my tomatoes.  Come here, try one.)** ”

 

Tony does as she bids, and he ends up with four beautiful tomatoes and a conversation that keeps him laughing until his belly aches.  He makes his way slowly through the market, letting himself be pulled in every direction, trying various things and buying whatever suits his fancy until Bruce is shaking his head as he approaches him, grinning.  “You’re trouble,” he says, looking in the basket hooked over Tony’s elbow.

 

“Yeah, and you’re handsome,” he snaps back with, leaning forward to kiss him.  “Come on, красотка. **(cutie)** ”

 

Shopping takes nearly twice as long with Tony because he won’t stop _talking_ , but he makes it enjoyable, and though Bruce has more rounds to make after they’re finished, Tony has a shift at the bar, so he takes the food back by himself, leaving Bruce to finish checking on his patients.

 

He does take a mango and a kiwi from Tony before he disappears, though, and he stops by one of the pump wells to fill one of his water bottles, storing it away in his bag.  Steve works about an hour out from their village, but the site is near one of the villages he makes rounds at, so he heads over after he’s finished up.

 

He doesn’t see him as he approaches, so he waves to a group of workers on break.  “Disculpe, ¿tiene un momento? **(Excuse me, do you have a moment?)** ” he asks as he comes within earshot.

 

One of them grunts at him, a tough looking kid with a black eye and two similar men at his flanks.  Bruce refrains from rolling his eyes and asks, “¿Sabes dónde está el soldado es? **(Do you know where the soldier is?)** ”

 

“Oh, the fuckin’ gringo,” the same black-eyed kid says, shaking his head, “Fuckin’ soldier, ya think?  In what fuckin’ tour?  You give me proof he ever fuckin’ served, and I’ll start kissin’ his pretty boy blonde ass.”

 

Bruce just blinks at him, too taken aback to respond correctly, and it’s not until someone else clears their throat that he realizes how fast his heart is beating, how much he desperately wants to give in and let the Hulk tear this meathead apart.  “Él toma sus descansos arriba en el andamio, solo. **(He takes his breaks up on the scaffolding, alone.)** ”  Bruce nods after a moment, turning away quickly and leaving as calmly as he can.  He walks through the construction site, fingers curled tightly around the straps of his backpack as he goes.

 

He’s cooled down by the time he sees Steve in the distance, not too high up, but enough that Bruce can’t easily call up to him.  He climbs carefully, taking it slow, and, when he reaches Steve, he hates what he finds.  Steve barely flashes him a smile before turning his gaze back out to the low sun, and he looks so beaten down that Bruce just wants to curl his arms around him and Hulk out on anyone that gets too close.

 

And so, he tries to go the Tony route and says, “Really, I came up all this way, and you’re not even gonna give me a real smile?”

 

“You didn’t have to come up here,” is all Steve says in response, and Bruce swallows his sigh.

 

“The Tony charm only works when it’s Tony?”

 

“Only about 2% of the time,” Steve says as Bruce sits next to him, but Bruce still catches the corner of his mouth lift up.

 

“Interesting,” Bruce says, nodding, “I think meeting Nick Fury has done his untouchable attitude wonders.  He rarely tries to woo him anymore.”  Steve lets out a small, empty laugh, so Bruce keeps going, shrugging off his backpack and digging around for the fruit.  He offers it, saying, “Thought you could use something sweet.”

 

Steve finally looks at him, his face so open and raw it makes Bruce’s chest ache.  “Thank you,” he says, his smile genuine this time, and Bruce just nods and goes back to his backpack, digging out the water bottle.

 

They sit together for a while until the sun starts to dip, and then Bruce stretches and shoulders his backpack again.  When he stands, he claps Steve on the shoulder and says, “Listen, no fights tonight, we have a team dinner planned.”

 

Steve’s head whips up to stare at him.  “How—”

 

“I’m not an idiot, Steve,” Bruce says, grinning, “There are few people outside of illegal boxing that could actually hurt you.  Tony knows, too, but apparently thinks it’s better if he pretends he doesn’t, or something.  Just come home on time, okay?”

 

Steve sighs, but nods.  “Yeah, okay.  I’ll see you later.”

 

Bruce waves before he heads off, and it’s dusk by the time he gets to the closest village.  He isn’t usually out this late, but he likes walking at night, likes feeling the warm air slowly get cooler until it’s bearable.  He takes his time, and when he reaches the next village, it’s full dark.  He’s only about a half hour out from where they’ve settled, but, as he rounds a corner and steps out onto one of the many grassy plains in between villages, he hears someone whistle.

 

“Oh, médico! **(doctor)** ” someone sings, and Bruce slows to a halt, looking around.

 

“¿Hola? ¿Hay alguien ahí? **(Hello?  Is someone there?)** ” Bruce calls out into the night, frowning when he doesn’t see anything nearby.

 

“Oh, _médico_!” the voice comes closer this time, and Bruce turns in time for something thick and heavy to come crashing down against his chest.  He staggers, breath punched out of him as the something is swung around and smacks against the back of his shoulders.  Bruce goes down, crumbling to his knees, chest heaving as he struggles to find his breath.  Someone rips the backpack from his shoulders before a hand threads in his hair and yanks backward.  He goes, grunting in pain.

 

A light flares, and Bruce finds he’s looking up at a short man with wide shoulders, smirking down at him.  “Eh, médico,” the man says, pulling harder on his hair until Bruce cries out, reaching back to grab at his wrist.

 

Two hands snatch up his left arm and pull backward until his shoulder pops, and Bruce screams, trying to fight away, but another set of hands comes down on his other arm, and he whimpers, falling still as his gaze moves back to the man above him.  “¿Qué quieres? ¿Quién es usted? **(What do you want?  Who are you?)** ” he asks hoarsely.

 

“Your gringo didn’t fall,” the man says before he releases his hair, and Bruce sags forward, throwing out his right hand to catch himself.

 

“What?” Bruce asks, staring at the ground in bewilderment.

 

“Your gringo didn’t fall,” the man repeats.

 

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t understand,” he says a moment before he does, “Oh god.”

 

“Your fuckin’ gringo didn’t fall!” the man shouts, and then the something that Bruce suspects is a two-by-four comes crashing down on his back again, and he sags to the ground, choking for air.

 

“Please,” he gasps, trying to turn over onto his back, “Please, just—just—he’ll be coming this way soon, please just—”

 

“Oh, we don’t want to see him,” the man says, kicking at Bruce’s left shoulder.  Even as he rolls over, Bruce shouts in pain, reaching with his right hand to cradle his arm.  The man steps a foot on either side of his waist and squats, grinning down at Bruce.  “We want to see you,” he says, “We have a message for your gringo.”

 

The man slaps his cheek lightly and then stands, and Bruce just stares.  He knows how easy it would be to give in, to just let the Hulk take over and save him, but then they wouldn’t be safe, they wouldn’t have this home here, they would have to go back to New York, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever ready to return to the one place that makes him feel most afraid.

 

——

 

Tony’s just starting dinner when he starts to get nervous.  It’s already late, around seven thirty, and dinner is scheduled for eight, though he’d put off starting it until now because Bruce wasn’t home at six like he usually is.  He barely gets through cutting up half a zucchini before he can’t stop fidgeting, and so he goes to change and then jogs downstairs to knock on Natasha and Clint’s door.  Natasha answers, frowning when she opens it to reveal Tony.  “What?  I thought dinner was in a half hour,” she says.

 

“Bruce is an hour and a half late.  I’m afraid something happened,” he says.

 

Natasha nods after a moment, going back into the flat and calling for Clint.  A few minutes later, they return with flashlights and dressed appropriately.  They all head out together, and it’s not long before they’ve searched the village and the perimeter.  When they convene back at the house, Tony shakes his head.  “Something’s wrong,” he says, looking around, “Something’s not right, something happened.”

 

“Let’s take the jeep to the surrounding villages, the ones he makes rounds on,” Clint says, already heading around back.

 

Tony doesn’t move at first until Natasha curls a careful hand around his elbow, and then he nods and follows her.  Clint drives while Tony hangs out the back, flashlight darting around, Natasha doing the same out the passenger window.  They’ve been searching for nearly an hour when they hear the rumble of a motorcycle.

 

“Follow it,” Natasha says as she slides back into the car, “Maybe it’s Steve.”

 

The single headlight on Steve’s bike comes into view a second before Steve running does, and then Clint’s jerking the car to a stop.  Tony can’t get out fast enough, and, when he finally does, it’s to break into a run because all he can see is Steve kneeling next to Bruce’s body.

 

“He’s alive,” Steve says, looking up as they approach, “He’s breathing, but—but I don’t—he’s—I don’t know what happened.”

 

“Move,” Tony says, dropping down on Bruce’s other side and flailing his hands at Steve, pushing the flashlight at him.  “Shine that on him,” Tony says even as he starts feeling around Bruce’s body with his hands.  “Shit,” he says when he comes to his left shoulder, “Okay, uh—Nat, see if there’s something in the car we can use as a sling.”

 

Natasha runs back to the jeep as Clint comes around next to Steve.  Tony keeps feeling, closing his eyes when he feels the slight depression in his side.  “Fuck,” Tony mumbles, opening his eyes again and reaching for the hem of Bruce’s shirt, slowly pulling it up.

 

“Oh my god,” Steve gasps when his mottled torso is revealed, black and blue and ugly.

 

“I think,” Tony begins, carefully applying pressure, “Shit, yeah.  I don’t know how many, but some of his ribs are broken.  Clint,” he looks up, and Clint nods, “Binding.  There’s a kit in the trunk, I think.”  When Clint leaves, Tony looks to Steve.  “I need you to be a soldier.”  Steve nods, clipped and abrupt.  “He might wake up, but I need to check his back.  I just need you to lift him a couple inches, but slowly and very carefully.  If he wakes up, keep him calm.”

 

“Okay.”

 

They switch sides, and Tony nods when he’s ready.  Steve curls one hand around Bruce’s waist, the other cupped around his dislocated shoulder, and carefully rolls him up.  Tony lifts a hand for him to stop, and then he reaches under, fingers feeling up his spine.  They stay like that as minutes tick by until Tony nods and Steve lowers him back down.  “As far as I can tell, it’s just a dislocated shoulder and broken ribs.  Thanks,” he adds as Natasha and Clint return, handing down the supplies.  “Alright, get him up.”

 

Steve starts to reach, but Natasha makes a soft, broken noise and says, “Tony, wait.  His leg is wrong.  Stand up, look at it.”  Tony obeys, frowning when he sees the odd, almost normal angle of Bruce’s right leg.

 

“That’s—odd.  Steve, hold on.”

 

He kneels again, feeling from Bruce’s ankle up, and, when he stops at his hip, his jaw drops open.  “We have to set this,” Tony says, looking at Steve, “Right fucking now.”

 

“What?”

 

“His—I’ve never seen—oh god, that’s gonna hurt.”

 

“Tony, _what_?”

 

“His hip is dislocated.”  There’s a brief space of silence before they’re all moving, Natasha hurrying to create a sling while Clint kneels at Bruce’s head.  “You have to do it, I can’t—I don’t—fuck, I’m not strong enough,” Tony says, still looking at Steve.

 

“Tony, I don’t even know how to—”

 

“I’ll walk you through it.  It’ll be okay, we’ll figure it out, but I need you to do this.”

 

After a moment, Steve nods.  “Yeah, okay.  Just—just tell me what to do.”

 

“Alright, well—um—Nat, sling?”

 

“Almost done.”

 

“I’ll hold his other leg down, Clint, hold his shoulders, Natasha, keep pressure on his chest, directly on his sternum.  Do _not_ press down on his side.”  Natasha finishes the sling, carefully curls Bruce’s arm in against him, situates the sling, and then she shifts until she can reach his chest.  “Ready?”  Tony gets three nods in response, and then he sits on Bruce’s thigh, knees locked tight on either side.  He walks Steve through the steps, trying to think of the best possible way to reset Bruce’s hip even as he talks to him.  He stops himself from rambling, knowing it will only distract Steve, and then, the second before it happens, he holds his breath.

 

Bruce wakes screaming, jerking upright even as they hold him down.  It tapers off slowly, and, as he comes down, Tony can hear the sob bubbling up until he’s shaking, his whole body locked tight as he rides out the wave of pain.  When he’s sure he won’t move, Tony nods, and they let go.  “Hey,” he says, coming up on Bruce’s side and stroking his bloody face.

 

“Tony?”

 

“I’m here, I’m here, you’re okay.”

 

“Oh god,” Bruce says, closing his eyes.

 

“Sh, you’re okay,” Tony hushes him, fingers drifting up to card through his curls.  He soothes him until Bruce opens his eyes again, and then, as quietly as he can, “What happened?”

 

Bruce shakes his head, gaze slipping over to Steve.  “They said you didn’t fall.”

 

Steve’s eyes go wide immediately, and he steps backward, hand lifting to cover his mouth.  “No,” he says.

 

“They said it was a message for you.  Steve, you have to stop.”

 

“Bruce, oh god, I’m so—I’m so sorry.”

 

“Is this because of the illegal boxing?” Tony asks, brow furrowing.

 

“Bruce, I—I don’t—I’m so sorry.”

 

“Is this because of the fucking illegal boxing?” Tony shouts, pushing to his feet.

 

“Tony—”

 

“You fucking _asshole_ , this is _your fault_!”

 

He launches himself at Steve even as Bruce tries to yell for them to stop.  Steve doesn’t defend himself, just lets Tony throw blow after blow until he’s shaking with it, _screaming_ at him.  Bruce closes his eyes and wills on the change, knowing neither of them will stop until stopped, and at the same moment he lets out a thundering roar, eyes shifting to green, Tony staggers to a stop, grabbing onto Steve as he claws at his chest.  He tries to say Steve’s name and finds he can’t.

 

He looks up, trying to swallow, trying to _breathe_ , but his throat feels like a needle, oxygen only just barely slipping through, and he’s wheezing without meaning to, his face contorting into pain as he sags against Steve, sliding to his knees.  “Tony!” Steve exclaims, going with him.

 

“Bruce!” Natasha shouts, lunging forward and grabbing Hulk’s hand, yanking at him until he turns.  “Bruce,” she says, squeezing, “Bruce, I need you to listen, I need you to come back.  Tony needs you.  Bruce, _please_.”

 

Tony grabs at Steve, slapping at his own chest.  “What?” Steve asks, shaking his head, “What?”

 

Tony shakes his head, closing his eyes.  He can’t _breathe_.  Tears leak out of his eyes unbidden, and then his chest is locking up, tightening until he feels like he might pass out.  He realizes, belatedly, as he feels the arc reactor singing in his chest, working overtime to keep the shrapnel away, that he’s having a heart attack.

 

“America _move_ ,” Hulk says suddenly before he lifts Tony into his arms, and then they’re both gone, Hulk sprinting back toward their village.

 

“Go!” Clint yells when no one moves, and then they’re frantically trying to get back to their vehicles and get back to the village.

 

Clint’s barely got the jeep in park before Natasha’s leaping out, running around to the front of the house.  Steve lets the bike crash to the ground, banging in after her, and Clint is close behind him as they run up the stairs.  Inside, Bruce is naked on top of Tony, straddling his waist, hands bracketed on his chest.  He’s not quite Bruce, though, his eyes bright green and his voice deep and hoarse as he yells instructions at them, but he’s Bruce enough that he can figure this out, that he can save the man that taught him how to live again.

 

Steve pauses, once, to stare at Tony’s closed eyes, at his slack mouth, and he thinks of this morning, of his laugh, of his bright smile, but then he’s turning away, stamping it all down until he’s just _doing_.

 

——

 

Steve spends the night sitting by Tony’s side, and every time he starts to nod off, he’s flooded with this crippling, overwhelming fear that jerks him back awake.  Tony is lying next to him, his head turned to the side, his breathing a little haggard but mostly even.  Every time he shakes awake like this, he has to card his fingers through Tony’s hair, remind himself that he’s here, that he’s okay.

 

As soon as Bruce had stabilized Tony last night, he’d stood there, frozen in place until Natasha had said his name, and then he’d stumbled into the bathroom and started vomiting.  Steve had only lingered long enough to make sure Natasha was fine with Tony before he followed him, closing the bathroom door behind them.  They’d spent nearly two hours in there, Bruce shaking so hard that Steve had to hold him lest he fall, trying to stay away from the edge, trying to push the Hulk back down.  His body had started aching before long, healed but beaten, and it took everything in Bruce to contain himself, to bottle it all up until he was exhausted not only from the abuse but the struggle of remaining.  Steve had held him the whole time, rubbing his back or stroking his hair, just trying to keep him calm until Bruce had turned his face in against Steve’s chest and started crying.  “This isn’t your fault,” he’d whispered, hand coming up to grab at Steve, holding onto him, “It’s not, it’s not, it’s—it’s not your fault.  It’s okay, we’ll be okay, _Steve_.”

 

And Steve had just held him and let him cry.

 

Afterward, Bruce had gotten dressed, checked on Tony, and left without a word.  Natasha and Clint were soon after him, and Steve’s been alone with an unconscious Tony for the past four hours, just waiting.

 

No matter what Bruce says, though, he’s so afraid he’s going to be here when Tony wakes up, so afraid he’s going to have to face him.

 

——

 

When Tony does wake, Steve’s asleep.  He comes to slowly, and the first wave of pain is the worst.  It rolls over him like fire, and Tony gasps, lifting a hand to press against his chest.  “Shit,” he lets out when it’s over, when he feels like he can breathe again.  And then he sees Steve, stretched out on his side, one arm curled under his head, his other lying in the space between them.  He imagines he drifted off without realizing it, was probably staring at Tony, and so he reaches out a hand to curl around his.  “Steve,” he whispers, squeezing his hand lightly.

 

He’s groggy at first, blue eyes blinking open slowly, but then, when he registers Tony, he’s shakes himself into attention and pushes up on an elbow.  “Hey,” he says, hand flipping so he can tangle their fingers together, thumb stroking over his skin, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like shit,” Tony says, closing his eyes, “Can you get me some water?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says, and Tony can _feel_ him lean forward and then stop.  He wants to open his eyes, to tell him it’s okay, he can kiss him, but there’s something there right now, something that’s just barely keeping them afloat, and Tony isn’t ready to drown yet.

 

Steve leaves him, going into the kitchen.  Tony opens his eyes, and his empty side makes everything ache more, pulls a broken noise from him, and he doesn’t even try to stop the tears from falling.  He shatters apart, shoulders shaking as he cries quietly, and he just wants nothing more than to curl up in Steve’s arms, to burrow there where he feels most safe, and to hide from the world.

 

He doesn’t mean to, but his chest hurts so much, and he _needs_ him, and he can’t stop it as he calls his name, his throat raw, his face wet, his very being pulling apart at the seams, “ _Steve_.”

 

He’s there in an instant, feet slapping against the wood floor as he hurries back to him, setting the glass down as soon as he sees Tony and starting to clamber back onto the bed when he stops, and he looks so afraid that Tony makes this awful noise, reaching for him.  “I need you,” he gasps, “Steve, I need you.”  His breaths are coming in too sharp, and he feels like his chest is closing up again, like he’s going to drift off and die.

 

Steve carefully climbs onto the bed and crawls over to him, and, when he wraps Tony up in his arms and pulls him close, Tony breaks.

 

He’s never cried like this in front of another person before, not before his mother, certainly not before his father, not before Pepper or Bruce.  The only other being that has ever seen him this open is Jarvis, and it occurs to him that he doesn’t care that Steve is here when his soft crying turns into hysteria, when he’s choking on the sobs, his breaths so uneven and fast that he feels like he might run out.

 

“Tony,” Steve whispers, squeezing him close, “You’re okay, baby, I got you.  I’m right here, you’re going to be okay.”

 

“Steve,” he sobs, clinging to him.  Steve is his life raft, and if he just holds on tight enough, he might survive.

 

“Sh, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, rubbing small circles into his back and pulling Tony closer, tangling their legs together until Tony can’t feel anything but Steve all around him.  “It’s okay, baby, you’re okay.”

 

“Steve,” he says again, his voice a little steadier this time, “Steve, I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry.”

 

“No, I’m—I fucked up, I fucked up so bad, and it almost cost you and Bruce your lives, and I—I’m sorry, Tony, I don’t know how to fix it, I’m so sorry, I never—I _never_ should have put your lives in danger like this, I’m _sorry_.”

 

“Steve—”

 

“I love you so much, Tony, I can’t lose you.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony says, closing his eyes and burying his face in Steve’s cotton chest, just breathing him in until he feels like he’s going to be okay.  “Don’t let me go,” he whispers.

 

“Never,” Steve says, kissing his mess of curls, “I got you.”

 

This is how Bruce finds them at dawn.

 

When he comes into the bedroom, he just stands there, staring at them, all of the anger he’d buried threatening to rise up again.  He doesn’t belong here.  He doesn’t belong in this world that Steve and Tony have created together.  He never should have stepped in between them and pretended he could ever have what they have, could _ever_ be with them like they are with each other.  He knows that they love each other, has heard it multiple times whispered between them, and it always makes him ache that Steve managed to do that, managed to worm his way far enough under Tony’s irrationally strong outer shell and taught him how to love.  He knows that it will be a long, _long_ time before he will ever be able to accomplish that.

 

Bruce starts to turn away, starts to _leave_ , when Tony’s voice pulls him back, “Don’t you dare walk away.  If you have a problem, be a fucking man and face us.”  Bruce doesn’t respond, just bows his head.  “Bruce,” Tony warns.

 

Steve whispers something, and Bruce feels suddenly cold as he realizes they’re both awake, as he realizes they both know what he’s thinking.  They’ve always been able to see right through him, and, for the first time, he wishes he could hide better, could hide like Tony.

 

“Shove over,” Tony murmurs, pushing at Steve.

 

They shuffle over, Tony gasping in pain briefly, and it’s that that turns Bruce around again.  “I shouldn’t be here,” he says, and Tony snorts.

 

“Fuck you,” Tony mutters, rolling onto his back and tipping his head back, his breaths coming a little too fast.  “Bruce, _Jesus_ , I just had a fucking heart attack, get over here before I have another one.”

 

Bruce sighs but does as he’s told, though he stays near the edge of the bed until Tony growls, throwing his arm out and hauling Bruce close.  “Tony, stop,” Bruce says, going so that Tony doesn’t strain himself.

 

“Then stop being a shithead,” Tony snaps at him.

 

Bruce jerks out of his grip, sitting.  “No,” he says, glaring down at them, “I—I can’t—you two _love_ each other, and I shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Oh, for fucking—” Tony breaks off into a litany of quite obscene profanity as he struggles to sit, smacking Steve when he tries to help him and nearly spitting at Bruce when he reaches forward.  “Both of you, don’t _fucking_ touch me,” he sneers when he’s finally upright.  “I swear to god, Steve!” his voice lifts into a yell when Steve leans close.  He takes a moment to breathe, and then he swings around and punches Steve in the chest.

 

Steve grunts, bowing backward a little as he stares in shock at Tony.  “Fucking _hurts_ , doesn’t it?” he growls at him, and Bruce tries to dodge it, but Tony’s fist comes around to strike him on the front of his shoulder.  “Stop being a fucking moron.  Ah!” he adds when they both open their mouths, “Nope.  You pissed me off, now we’re gonna hash this out, and guess what, romantics Tony Stark style, get fuckin’ ready.”

 

Tony shifts until he’s comfortable, crossing his legs beneath him, and then he points a finger at each of them and says, “I have just about had it with whatever the fuck is going on in this little thing we’ve got going, so you know what?  It’s over.  Okay, done with, no more problems.  Shut _up_!” he yells when Bruce opens his mouth, “My god, it’s like dealing with fucking _children_!”

 

Steve almost laughs, and Tony swings his head to look at him, furious.  “I’m sorry,” he says, trying to bite down his grin, but then Bruce is cracking as he meets Steve’s gaze.

 

“Oh, fuck you both,” Tony grumbles, folding his arms across his chest, and they both break, laughing.

 

“Tony,” Steve says when they settle, rubbing a hand over his knee, “ _We’re_ the children, really?”

 

Tony glares at him, and then at Bruce, who’s smiling.  “I was _trying_ to be mature, but whatever,” he mutters, huffing.

 

“Oh my god, you’re such a queen,” Bruce groans, shaking his head.

 

“I’m not a fucking queen, okay, and—” he breaks off as they both give him matching incredulous looks, so he rolls his eyes and says, “Fine, I am a fucking queen, but that’s beside the point because you both dig it.  Why else the fuck do you put up with me?  Look—this shit’s got to end.  I know this is fucking difficult.  I mean, _fuck_ , there are so many fucking limbs everywhere all the time, and you guys exhaust the _shit_ out of me.  It’s beautiful, I never thought I could get fucked twice in one go by two different, _extremely attractive_ men, I mean, I’m pretty much living the dream over here.  But damn it, guys, it’s fucking difficult.  Going in, okay, I thought it was pretty fucking self explanatory how this was going to start.  Bruce, I’ve never had a relationship this long before.  Steve and I had been together for, holy fuck, is it really two years?”  When Steve nods, smiling fondly, Tony slaps his leg and says, “Two years is like a goddamn decade for me, Bruce, and—shit, man, there’s a reason we asked you about trying this out.  We talked for a _long_ time before we approached you, it wasn’t just on a whim.  We were very serious when we asked you, and—and I know it sucks, okay, that sometimes you feel like a third wheel, but it’s hard, man.  When this meathead said he loved me the first time, I literally got on a plane and got the hell out of there.  This isn’t going to happen overnight, and I’m sorry if you feel left out, if you feel like we don’t want you here, but Bruce, if we didn’t, we never would have asked you to be part of _this_.  Okay?”  Bruce can’t contain the smile, so he ducks his eyes, nodding.  “Don’t hide from us,” Tony says, reaching out for his hand.  “Hey,” he says, and Bruce looks up, “We’d be lost without you.  The fact that we’ve made it this long, the three of us, is pretty fucking awesome.  Don’t walk away just because there’s a speed bump.”

 

“Okay,” Bruce says softly, nodding, “Thank you.”

 

“And _you_ ,” Tony says, barely waiting for Bruce to finish before he turns on Steve, “Fucking _stop_ with the illegal boxing, alright?  I know you know,” he says when Bruce clears his throat, “Shut up, I’m not talking to you right now.  Dude, if you need to let off steam, go find Nat, she’s a fucking maniac, but Jesus Christ, Steve, you nearly got us all killed, and you know what, it’s all of our fucking faults because we should have talked to you about it.  Oh, and _you_ ,” he says, rounding on Bruce again, “The fuck with the drug lord?  Are you seriously still going over there?  Bruce, you’re going to get killed, you—Steve, did you know he was treating a high drug lord’s mother?  What the fuck do you think is going to happen if she dies?  You won’t be able to talk them down, man, and if you die, I’m gonna blow this fucking place to pieces.  Okay?  We need to be careful.  We need to _survive_.”  He takes a moment to look between them before he says, “Now.  I need to take a shit and probably shower, but I don’t think I can make it from here to the bathroom without collapsing.  Go make me food,” he adds to Bruce, pushing at him until Bruce shakes his head, leans up to kiss his forehead, and then disappears into the kitchen.  Tony turns, chin tipped up, and Steve just laughs before kissing him and then moving so he can help him off the bed.

 

They spend the day together, curled up with Tony, only pulling away from each other to cook or use the bathroom.  Tony spends most of the time sleeping, though there’s one instance where he wakes gasping for breath, grabbing at the nearest body, nails digging in, and they wind around him, pulling him back down and calming him.  In the end, they’re a little broken, but they’re healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, putting this one up early as no one seems to be reading anyway, and I really want to start posting the college AU. Though, speaking of it, I posted on Tumblr the other day about it, figured I’d post here. This is how I’ve kind of summarized it:
> 
> So Steve and Tony are roommates, and Steve kind of thinks Tony is ridiculous when he first meets him, but really he’s just kind of fondly smiling at him because Tony’s just a dorky doofus who like to run around flailing about science. Betty and Bruce live down the hall from them, and Tony calls them the super couple, and Betty ships him and Steve _so hardcore_ , and Tony wants to have a threesome with them, but Bruce is being difficult. Betty and Bruce have been dating for two years already, and he’ll propose to her eventually. Tony has a lot of issues because he’s _Tony Stark_ , and Steve doesn’t really believe that his roommate is complicated until he starts unraveling him, and while he’s doing that, he starts to accidentally fall in love with him. There’s an obnoxious amount of party scenes where Tony keeps dancing with Steve and making Steve _think things_ , and suddenly, he came to school thinking he was straight but maybe he’s actually Tonysexual, and one day, when he’s freaking out, when Bruce is hopped up on cold medicine because he’s sick, he admits he’s Tonysexual, too, and he might let Tony make out with him at some point because he and Betty have this crazy strong relationship, and they both kind of want to bone Tony, and they never will, but they’ll both eventually make out with him after having a long, serious discussion about it with each other. Tony’s kind of a slut sometimes, but Steve is also kind of a slut, but really, Steve’s just freaking out, and he keeps doing things with Tony that he shouldn’t, and then they don’t date until their sophomore year, but _so much_ happens between them before then. And Tony is just so in love with Steve, and Steve is so in love with Tony, but neither of them know how to talk about their feelings, so they just sleep in each other’s beds and do yoga together and Tony goes over for Thanksgiving break and Steve likes to kiss Tony everywhere but on his mouth and so many words go by before they finally have their first kiss, and it’s all just so beautiful and tragic.
> 
> Last I posted, it was at 39k—well, in the past three days, it’s passed 60k, whoops. Just a show of hands, would anyone be interested? As far as what you’ve currently just read, though, if you want, leave your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce knows what he’s doing, knows he’s grounding Tony, pulling him into their center, into this world they’ve created just between the three of them, this space that is so warm and so safe that Bruce knows, without a doubt, they will be together for a long, long time because of it.

A week passes in which Tony spends the first two days bedridden under Bruce’s orders, though, by the third day, he tells him to “fuck off to the next galaxy, okay, I’m going to set this bed on fire if I have to be cooped up here another fucking second,” and so he spends the day at the bar, making up for lost time.  The harassment picks up again at the construction site until Steve is forced to start reverting to Bruce’s methods for staying calm, and though he doesn’t tell either of them, he’s more withdrawn each day, and Bruce can tell Tony’s close to whining at him.  Bruce asks for a meeting with the high drug lord, and he approaches him as nothing but a doctor, laying out the facts and the eventual outcome.  He’s told to leave before his gracious aid to their family is forgotten and he is executed, and, on his way out, the daughter pulls him off to the side.  She asks after his safety and if they were kind to him, and it occurs to him that maybe the man playing king is not the one pulling the strings.

 

And then, a week since everything was turned upside down, Bruce sits down with Natasha and Clint and decides on a new day.  The night before, he barely sleeps until Tony groans at him, pushing at him with his foot.  “ _What_?” Tony whines even as Bruce leans away from him.

 

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Bruce says, and then Steve sighs.  “Oh my god, what is it with you two?  Are you telepathically connected or something?”

 

Tony snorts and starts giggling, so Steve gives him a shove and then pushes up on an elbow.  “Sometimes,” he admits, “Wanna talk it out?”

 

“Real talk time!” Tony exclaims, scrambling upright and over Steve, “Come on, no excuse, this is happening,” he trails off singing, hips swinging as he wiggles across the room and to their window.

 

“I don’t really think we have a choice,” Steve says when Tony disappears out the window, taking the fire escape up onto the roof.  Bruce rolls his eyes, but obliges.

 

Outside, it’s a heavy kind of warm, the kind that settles in your bones and stays there, the kind of warm that makes Bruce feel safe because it isn’t oppressing, just _there_.  Steve drops down next to Tony, who immediately flops over between his legs, reclining on his back so that his head rests on Steve’s stomach.  Steve leans back on his elbows as Bruce sits next to Steve, leaning toward him so that his head rests on his shoulder.  They let him sit in silence in the deep night until Steve leans down, pressing a kiss to his mess of curls.  He strokes a hand through Tony’s hair before he drops onto his back, and Tony shifts, scooting over so that he’s lying on his side, head resting on Steve’s left shoulder.  Bruce follows suit, and they both curl around him, Tony reaching for Bruce’s hand and twining them together, letting them rest on Steve’s chest.

 

“Talk to us,” Steve says softly.

 

“I know you both know about Natasha.”

 

“Talk it out.”

 

“She’s pregnant, and she’s asked me to abort.  We had to reschedule for tomorrow, and I’m so afraid something is going to go wrong.  I haven’t performed an abortion in a few years.”

 

“Want me to read up on the procedure and assist?”

 

“How?” Bruce asks, looking over at him.

 

“There’s this thing called the Internet, Bruce,” Tony says cheekily.

 

Bruce frowns.  “How do you have Internet access?”

 

It dawns on Tony what he’s said, and he comes up with a half-assed excuse, “I’m halfway there, shouldn’t take too long to finish things up, getting some form of an early computer working.”

 

“Really?” Steve asks, looking over, “Where?”

 

“Here and there.  Anyway, I can tag along, if you want.”

 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll—I’ll be okay, I’m just nervous.  I just—” he breaks off with a sigh, burrowing closer to Steve, and though he doesn’t ask, Steve pulls him closer and holds him tight as Tony squeezes his hand.

 

They drift off, Tony snoring lightly against Steve’s side, Bruce warm on his other.  Steve stays awake, though, watching over them, hands rubbing over their backs.  It’s been rough lately at the construction site, but he’s been trying to shove it down and hide it.  Tony and Bruce need him right now, and so he needs to be strong, needs to be their soldier.

 

He watches the sunrise, and only then does he move, leaning toward Tony and pressing a soft kiss to his temple.  “Tony,” he whispers, hand sliding up to squeeze at his shoulder.  Tony makes a soft noise and rolls away, curling in on himself a little.  Steve just smiles and turns, carefully gathering Bruce in his arms and sitting.  He gets up slowly, shifts Bruce’s weight closer to him, and makes his way across the roof.

 

“Steve,” he mumbles as Steve starts going down the stairs.

 

“Sh, you’re dreaming.”

 

Bruce laughs softly, turning into him.  Steve just smiles and keeps going until he reaches their bed, and he carefully lays Bruce down, kissing him softly before he leaves to go retrieve Tony.  When he returns to the roof, Tony lifts his arms, and Steve laughs, kneeling to lift him into his arms.  “Alright, you big baby, let’s go.”

 

Tony murmurs incomprehensibly and snuggles against him.  Steve deposits him on the bed next to Bruce, pulls the blanket over them, and then goes to dress for a run.

 

Steve greets the morning with his feet on the ground, and it’s days like these he’s glad Tony and Bruce don’t like to run.  He can’t seem to get out of his head, too wrapped up in everything that’s been going on, in the relentless banter of, _you’re not a soldier, you’re barely a man, you fuckin’ white piece of trash_ , until he’s getting close to a sprint, and Steve isn’t sure if he’s just running or running away.

 

He ends up being late getting back to the house, but his men are still sleeping, so he takes a quick shower, dresses in his work clothes, packs lunch, and leaves again.  The ride isn’t bad on his bike—an hour walking, about fifteen driving, but he likes to take it slow on mornings like these, likes to give himself time to calm down and clear his head before he gets to the site.

 

When he does, the ringleader and his friends are already there—he discovered recently that _Sergeant James Eichen_ and his two privates served four tours together in Afghanistan, which really only makes him hate them more because every time he hears about Afghanistan, it makes him think of Tony and why he has to spend every day worrying that he might die because of his heart now.

 

“Hey!” Jimmy yells, lifting both hands, “There’s my favorite ground pounder.  What’s up, buddy boy?”  Steve nods and continues past them, hoping against all reason they’ll just leave him alone today.

 

“Someone’s not feelin’ the love today,” one of the privates says, pouting, “Think we should teach our old pal, Stephen, a lesson in manners to his higher ranking officers?”

 

“Hey, _grunt_!” Jimmy calls after him, “Salute to your damn sergeant!”

 

Steve keeps walking, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.  Jimmy whistles when he doesn’t stop, and then he hears him moving, but a second later one of the other two is saying, “Jimmy, wait,” and Steve looks up to find their boss walking toward him.  He nods hello and keeps going, and by the time he’s out of sight, so is Jimmy.

 

——

 

Tony groans when Bruce’s alarm goes off, flailing out a hand to make him turn it off, but both sides of the bed are empty, so he pushes against the mattress, lifting his head.  “Bruce!” he whines even as Bruce comes out of the bathroom and goes to shut off the alarm.

 

“Sorry,” he says, leaning down to kiss Tony, “Do you have work today?”

 

“Yeah, I told Mickey I’d go down to the garage for a few hours, then a double at the bar.  You and blondie should come keep me company later.”

 

“We should talk to him tonight about what’s been going on at work,” Bruce says as there’s a knock on the door.

 

“Something’s been going on at the construction site?” Tony calls out to him.

 

“Yeah, he’s—hey,” Bruce breaks off as he opens the door to find Clint, “I was just getting my things together.  Is everything okay?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I—Nat asked if I’d step out for a few hours.  Is the princess awake?”

 

“I resent that!” Tony yells from the bedroom, and both Bruce and Clint roll their eyes.

 

“Come on in,” Bruce says, turning away.

 

Clint follows him into the bedroom, leaning against the doorway as Tony starts rummaging around for clothes.  “I’m going to the garage, if you wanna come,” he offers, “I can teach you a thing or two about cars.”

 

“Oh god, you’re so old,” Clint groans.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Whatever, pops.”

 

“Bruce, I’m going to set him on fire,” Tony threatens as he pulls on a pair of shorts.

 

“Not in the bedroom, dear,” Bruce says, tilting his head up for a kiss, “I have to go.  Remember, we’re talking to Steve tonight.”

 

“About _what_?” Tony calls after him as Bruce heads out.

 

Bruce opens the door as he responds, “Some army kids are giving him shit at work!”  And then he’s gone, leaving Tony and Clint to hang out while he goes downstairs.  When he knocks, Natasha calls for him to come in, and, when he does, he finds her sitting on the sofa, knees drawn to her chest, and her hands curled around a mug of tea.  Bruce locks the door before he goes over to her, setting his bag down on the floor at the other end of the sofa.  “Natasha—”

 

“I’m sure,” she says, firm, not looking at him.

 

Bruce sighs and looks down at his hands.  “It occurred to me recently that we might have to go back soon, that we can’t keep hiding,” he says quietly, “If that was a distinct possibility, would you still be sure?”

 

She hesitates only a second before saying, “Yes.  We can’t do this right now, Bruce.  It’s irresponsible.”

 

“Okay.  I’m not trying to sway you in either direction, I just wanted to make sure.  Once we’ve started, though—”

 

“I know.  I’m ready.”

 

Bruce reaches forward, taking the mug from her and then taking her hands.  He waits until she looks at him before he smiles softly.  “It’s going to be okay,” he says, and Natasha nods, remaining strong.  “Let’s go into the bedroom, then.”  Bruce lets Natasha take the lead, following only when she stands and walks away.

 

——

 

Tony loves spending time at the garage.  It reminds him of his lab back home, of the nights when he’d get so wound up that he’d just end up tinkering with whatever car tickled his fancy at the time.  And though he doesn’t necessarily like when other people are around, Clint is fun to boss around, even if he keeps making old man comments at Tony.

 

He hangs around until Bruce comes by during his rounds to bring Tony lunch and to let Clint know that Natasha would like to see him, and so buggers off.  As soon as he’s gone, though, Tony points a wrench at Bruce and says, “You were being evasive this morning.”

 

“I was?”

 

“About Steve.”

 

“Oh—no, I just don’t actually know a lot.  I went to bring him fruit the other day, and there was this kid talking shit about him when I asked where he was, and I noticed Steve had been kind of quiet lately.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, frowning.  He wipes his hands on a rag and then turns toward Bruce, leaning against the car.  “I don’t know what to say to him,” he admits, shrugging, “He’s out of his element here.”

 

“How do you mean?” Bruce asks.

 

“Well, you know—we’re not even in America.  It sucks.”

 

“We’re doing just fine here.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, shaking his head, “Okay.”

 

“Don’t shrug me off like that,” Bruce says, mirroring Tony’s frown, “You don’t think things are okay?”

 

Tony stares at him for a moment before letting out this soft, empty laugh.  “Really, Bruce?  You just gave Natasha an _abortion_ , I had a fucking heart attack last week, _you_ got the shit beat out of you because Steve is so messed up he had to take part in fucking illegal boxing, not to mention he’s being verbally abused, from the sounds of it, by some meatheads.  He’s developing fucking _rage issues_ , Bruce!  Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that we’re here because we’re in fucking _exile_ because SHIELD is falling apart.  Yeah, things are fucking spectacular.”

 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Bruce mutters, turning away.

 

“Hey!” Tony exclaims, jerking up off the car, “Listen, I know that this shit works for you, that you feel safe in third world countries, but this does _not_ work for the team.  Steve is Captain fucking _America_ , Bruce—he joined the army to fight _bullies_ , and he _loves_ his country.  He was the last person to agree to come here because he’s terrified of being in exile like this.  Nat and Clint are better off, sure, but they belong in SHIELD, like the rest of us do, fixing whatever the hell is going on.  We can’t just hide here forever.  We have a responsibility to each other and to our country!”

 

“Oh, come on,” Bruce snaps, turning back to him, “This place, any place like this is better for us, and you know it.  _We’re_ better here.  You think we’d be able to carry on like this in New York?  You think people would still accept us?  And it’s not because Steve loves his country, it’s because of the _service_ , which he could easily get anywhere here if he just applied himself.  And _you_ — _you_ are better here, Tony.  You’re healthier, you’re happier, you’re—you’re _safer_ , you’re—”

 

“Bullshit!” Tony shouts, stepping forward and lifting a hand, finger jabbing into Bruce’s chest, “Bull _shit_.  You think I like it here?  You think I like working at a bar and finding reasons to drink again?  I was _so close_ to kicking it all, to being sober for _you_ , for Steve, for _us_!  I was healing, Bruce, and then all this fucking _shit_ , and Jesus _fuck_ , Bruce, do you think I’m a moron?  You think I don’t know what’s going on with my body right now?  You think I don’t know that I’m developing asthma, that I’m having heart palpitations, that it’s only a matter of fucking time before I have another heart attack, before I _die_?  I refuse to die out here, helpless and alone because no matter what you say, how you try to convince me, we are _alone_ out here.  Our leader is _breaking_ , and if we go home, we will be killed, and you think just because we ran away that means that we’re okay, that we’re still together?  Bruce, I don’t know who I am anymore.”

 

“Tony, I—” but he falls quiet, just staring at him.  There’s a long, heavy moment of silence before Bruce nods and says, “I’ll see you at home.”

 

Tony waits for him to turn around before he goes back to his car, though it’s not long after Bruce has left the garage that he throws the tool he’s holding and screams, anger rippling through him.

 

——

 

It’s early when Steve decides to call it quits, and he carefully makes his way down the scaffolding until he’s on ground level again, and then he goes to punch out and grab his backpack.  Jimmy and his privates are taking a smoke break in their usual spot, and Steve sighs as he approaches him.  His bike isn’t far, but he still has a good distance to cover, most of it within shouting distance of them, and so he’s still a ways from them when Jimmy lets out a hoot and gives one of his privates a shove.  “Here comes our little ground pounder, riding toward the war!” he sings, loud and off-key.

 

Steve takes a few deep breaths, in and out and in and out and in and out.

 

“Hope he catches a bullet in his ass to blow him off the board!” his friends join in with him.

 

He’s closer now, and he stamps down the urge to go up there and show them how wrong they are, how disrespectful they’re being.

 

“Here he comes to save the day, mighty little Steve!”

 

He tries to think of Bruce, to dig deep and find where his peace lies, but he’s so far from home, and he doesn’t know if he knows what it means to be an American soldier anymore.

 

“It’s our boy, our rowdy boy, our little stars and stripes, our darling little honey boy!”

 

Steve stops, holding his breath, and Jimmy hoots again.  “Oh hoo, you gonna come up here, pretty boy?”

 

“Walk away,” Steve whispers to himself, “Just fucking walk away.”

 

“Come on, _boy_ , show us what you got.  Bet you ain’t man enough, _grunt_.”

 

Steve sees red.

 

Before he can stop himself, he’s reaching up, hand curling around Jimmy’s dangling ankle, and _yanking_.  Jimmy shouts as he’s thrown off the small dirt ledge, though the shout dies when he hits the ground, instead devolving into a loud groan as he rolls over.  Steve turns in time for the two privates to jump down, and then he shows them what kind of soldier he is.

 

He knocks the first one to the ground with a blow to the chest, twists the other’s arm around and kicks him toward the dirt wall, turns as Jimmy’s stumbling upright and throws him an uppercut that’s sent better man staggering.  Jimmy drops back to the ground, howling, as Steve turns again, catching the first one by the throat as he charges him, throws a punch with his left hand aimed at the second one’s nose.  There’s a sick crunch, and the second one stumbles back, blood pouring through his fingers as he holds his face.  Steve waits until the first one is scrambling, nails opening wide gauges in his hand and arm before he drops him to the ground, letting him choke for air as he turns back to Jimmy again, who’s trying desperately to get to his feet.  Steve hauls him up and slams him against the dirt wall, his head smacking backward.

 

“Stand down!” he roars when the second one approaches him, and he immediately bows his head and steps back.

 

“Yes, sir,” he says quietly.  The first one manages to get to his knees, staring up at Steve in shock.

 

In front of him, Jimmy stares at him, eyes wide and terrified.  “Who the fuck are you?” he asks hoarsely.

 

“Captain Stephen Rogers of the United States Army.  I have served my country for over seventy years, and I—”

 

He can hear Tony in his head, _he wouldn’t change because then they’d know—he let them beat him, Steve, to protect our anonymity._

Steve jerks back, gasping out a breath.  He starts to turn, and then stops, not looking at them.  “Stay the fuck out of my way,” he says quietly, and then he leaves.

 

He doesn’t really remember finding his bike and leaving.  He doesn’t remember driving until, suddenly, it’s been ten minutes, and he sees Bruce coming out of a house nearby.  Steve’s overwhelmed with this abrupt urge to be as far from this moment as possible, to just keep driving and never look back, but he swallows it down and instead pulls over.  Bruce looks over his shoulder as he gets close, and his smile is too small when Steve stops.

 

“Hey,” he says, “Everything okay?”

 

“No,” Bruce admits, and he surprises Steve by swinging a leg over the bike and tightening the straps on his backpack before he winds his arms around Steve’s middle.  He doesn’t say anymore, so Steve takes him home, pulling the bike around back.  They go upstairs together, and it’s not until Bruce is shedding his clothes in the bedroom and padding naked into the bathroom that Steve starts to worry.

 

He follows him in, watching his outline as he turns on the water in the shower and tips his head back, letting it run over him.  He starts to question him, thinks better of it, and instead joins him, stepping in behind him and winding his arms around him, one hand braced against his chest and the other against his stomach.  “Talk to me,” he whispers into his neck, laying a soft kiss there.

 

Instead, Bruce turns and pulls Steve down for an open kiss, and Steve would recognize the desperate way he holds onto him anywhere, so he gives in, letting Bruce take what he needs until they’re plastered against the wall, Steve’s hands wandering over his body and coming to settle at his ass, squeezing lightly.

 

“Steve,” Bruce groans, pulling away to drop his head against his shoulder, “I—I just—”

 

“Be quiet,” Steve says, shrugging his head away and turning them so Bruce is against the wall.  He drops to his knees, and Bruce just lets his head thud back, one hand coming up to thread in Steve’s wet, blonde hair.

 

It’s very rarely just them—Steve can count on one hand the amount of times he and Bruce have had sex, and the first time was just to get them used to each other, and thus it had been instigated by Tony.  This, though, is different than any other time between them.  This is hot and needy, and Steve loses himself in the weight of Bruce’s cock on his tongue even as Bruce loses himself in the warm pull of Steve’s mouth.  His orgasm is a slow, rolling thing that leaves him shuddering, his whole body chilled a second before the goose bumps fade away, and he’s quiet when he comes, fingers tightening in Steve’s hair as he chokes on his name and gasps.  Steve swallows him down, licking him clean before he stands, kissing him hard.

 

And then he’s gone, and Bruce is left standing alone in the shower, wondering what the hell just happened.

 

Steve doesn’t know why he left, knows only that he felt too close to breaking in that last kiss, felt like he might split apart, and so he dries off and dresses as fast as he can, closing his eyes when his cock throbs behind the confines of his shorts.  He presses the heel of his palm down against his groin, trying to relieve the pressure, but it only makes his skin feel tighter, so he goes to find a pair of flip flops, and then nearly flees the house.

 

When he gets to the bar, Tony’s not pouring drinks, so he goes around back to find him idly turning a stone over in his fingers.  He looks around to make sure no one’s nearby, and then he approaches him, flashing him a half-assed smile when Tony looks up.  “You look about as great as I feel,” Tony mutters.

 

“Something happen between you and Bruce?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s whatever.  We’ll get over it.”

 

“Wanna talk about it later?”

 

“What, not now?” Tony scoffs, looking away.

 

Steve shrugs, reaching out a hand.  “I was kind of hoping I could fuck you against that wall right now.”

 

Tony’s head whips back around, staring at him with wide eyes, mouth dropped open.  “I just happened to lose brain capability, come to think of it,” Tony says, licking his lips, “I can’t actually remember the last time I got hard that fast.  Holy fuck,” he groans, eyes closing as Steve bites his lip, staring down at him with dark eyes.

 

Tony slaps his thigh a second later and then stands, letting out a soft grunt when Steve yanks him close and kisses him, teeth scraping over his bottom lip before he’s licking into his mouth.  It’s a different kiss from Bruce, fast and angry as Steve pulls at Tony’s shorts, trying to get them undone.  He finally gets the button undone, shoves them down, and pushes Tony away, jerking his head toward the wall.

 

“Shit,” Tony mutters, turning, putting his hands against the wall.

 

Steve stretches him quickly, Tony pressing his temple against his arm and biting his lip to muffle his sounds as Steve opens him wide, spits into his palm, and then he’s slamming inside.  “Fuck,” Tony groans, head tipping back.  Steve reaches around, fingers curling around Tony’s cock, and he gives him a few, slow thrusts, hand matching his rhythm, before he’s jumping faster, pulling out until only the head of his cock is encased in his tight heat, and then sliding back in, quick, full thrusts that make Tony shake.

 

Tony’s comes before him, body jerking forward as he chokes on a shout, and Steve snaps his hips shallowly, lets Tony’s inner walls flutter around him until he’s tipping over the edge, coming with Tony’s name on his lips.  He remains only a few seconds before he pulls out and reaches for his shorts.

 

“Fuck, man,” Tony groans, looking back at him, “The hell?”

 

“What?” Steve grunts, “Put your pants back on.”

 

“Steve,” Tony says, frowning as he pulls his own shorts back up, “Dude, chill.  What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Steve mutters, starting to leave when Tony grabs his arm, pulling him back.  Steve’s hand comes up, and Tony sucker punches him.

 

“Did you really just raise your fucking hand to me?” Tony roars as Steve folds over, breath coming out in a gasp.  “You _asshole_!” he screams, fist coming back around, and Steve isn’t fast enough to stop it before the blow hits his jaw.

 

“Tony!”

 

“Don’t _Tony_ me!  You know all my shit, and you still just—I can’t fucking believe you!”  He starts to storm off, but Steve grabs him, holding onto him as Tony throws a knee, hitting him in the thigh as he tries to struggle away.

 

“Tony!” he yells again, but his voice cracks this time, and he lets go of him as it comes spilling out.

 

“Shit,” Tony says as Steve jerks back, shaking, his eyes welling up.

 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, trying to back away, but Tony just shakes his head and pulls him back.

 

“What is going on with you?” Tony asks, winding his arms around Steve.  He buries his face in Tony’s shoulder and tries desperately to hold it in, but Tony just sighs and says, “Steve, stop hiding from me.  I need you here with me,” and he breaks, a sob building until it’s shattering through him.  Tony supports him, holding him together, hands bracketed against his back tightly, pressing him close.  “Steve,” he sighs, pressing their heads together.

 

“I want to go home,” Steve whispers against his skin, and Tony closes his eyes.

 

——

 

Steve is sitting at the end of the bar, tucked into the side out of the way, the stool next to him open when Bruce walks in.  He quietly sits next to him, waving to Tony, and then he starts to turn on Steve when he notices the bruise blossoming on his jaw.  “Have you been fighting again?” he demands, reaching for Steve’s face and turning it into the light so he can better see his jaw.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, and Bruce pulls back his hand.

 

“For what?”

 

“I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that,” Steve says, his voice soft as he turns toward Bruce, taking his hand in both of his.  “I—I freaked out,” he admits, ducking his eyes, “I was feeling claustrophobic, and—and I had a really shit day at work, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to leave you like that.”

 

“I take it you got your fix from Tony, then,” Bruce snaps, pulling his hand back.

 

“Bruce,” Steve says, and it’s the way he says it, his voice dangerously close to cracking, and that’s when Bruce notices his hands are shaking.  He frowns, looking back up at him.  “I am losing all recognition of the man I used to be, of the _soldier_ I used to be.  I am _drowning_ here, Bruce, and it’s not just because I’m homesick.”  Steve looks up, finally meeting his gaze, and he looks so lost, so far from _okay_ that it makes Bruce ache to do anything in his power to make him smile.  “I miss New York so much,” Steve says, his lower lip trembling as he fights back tears, “I miss my old apartment in Brooklyn, I miss the Tower, I miss falling asleep with you and Tony on either side and not wondering if we might not wake up.  I miss my country, Bruce.  America has given me so much.  I was allowed to live the life I’d always dreamed of because of my beautiful country, and it is destroying me that I have had to turn my back on our people, on the people we swore to protect.  I don’t care if they try to shoot on sight, or if they think we’re terrorists, we still owe them our lives.  I miss our team—we had finally become one in truth, just in time for it to be snatched out of our hands.  I can’t stay here much longer.  If I do, I don’t know who I’ll become, and that terrifies me.  I’m sorry,” he adds in a whisper, turning back toward the bar and looking up.

 

Bruce follows his gaze in time to see Tony give him a small nod before he gets back to work, and Bruce just sighs and leans into Steve.  “Maybe we should call a team meeting, then.”

 

He straightens as Steve looks over at him.  After a moment, he nods.  “I think we should talk, the three of us, before then.”

 

“I agree.  Tonight?”

 

“Yeah.  Okay.  Thank you, Bruce.”

 

Bruce nods, and they sit in quiet until Tony comes over, slapping the bar and leaning forward.  “Let’s go, boys, double team,” he says, closing his eyes and giving them his best smile.  Steve laughs softly and presses a kiss to his cheek as Bruce moves to do the same.  When he’s satisfied, Tony rocks back onto the heels of his feet and folds his arms over his chest.  “Are we better now?”

 

“Yes, Tony,” they say at the same time, and Tony just grins cheekily and wiggles his eyebrows before dancing off.

 

They spend the night in the bar, drinking and loosening up.  When Bruce gets up to use the bathroom, a set of twins drop down beside Steve, their shirts pulled low and their smiles wide.  “Hey handsome,” one of them says, head tilting to the side, “What are you drinking?”

 

Though he’s a little bewildered at the attention, Steve humors them.  “Beer, and you?”

 

There’s a brief pause before the other one says, “Same, funnily enough.”

 

“Let me buy you a drink, then,” Steve says, tapping the bar.

 

Tony saunters over, a smirking curling the corner of his mouth.  “What’s your poison, soldier?” he asks, elbows leaning on the bar.

 

“Two beers, mechanic,” Steve nearly _purrs_.

 

Tony hums, winks, and says, “Comin’ right up, sugar.”

 

“I _knew_ he was gay!” one of the twins hisses as Tony goes to grab two cold bottles.

 

“He better be,” Steve says, shaking his head as Tony whistles at Bruce as he comes out of the bathroom.

 

“Wait,” one of them says, frowning, “Are _you_ gay?”

 

“Bisexual,” Steve admits, “So is the bartender.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

Tony returns with the beers, sliding them over.  “Pay up,” he says, gaze fixed on Steve.

 

Steve lifts his bottle, chugging the rest before he slaps it down on the counter.  “Grab me another, and I’ll consider it,” he says, flashing Tony a wicked grin.

 

“You’re gonna regret that later, soldier,” he says, his voice smooth and low as he turns away.  He makes a ruckus shouting at Bruce as he goes to get Steve’s beer.

 

The twins are watching like it’s a tennis match as Steve’s gaze slides to Bruce, who approaches, sighing.  He taps one of them on the shoulder so that they’ll move, and he comes in close, reaching for his own bottle and tipping it back, downing what little is left.  “I’m gonna go pay a visit to the lovers,” he says, hand sliding discreetly over Steve’s arm, but Steve isn’t having any of that, and he reaches for him, tugging him back for a soft, lingering kiss.  When they part, Bruce is smiling, and it makes everything worth it to see him so at ease.

 

Bruce is barely out the door when Tony lets out a holler, coming back over.  “Oh, so he—” Steve cuts him off with a hand fisted in his shirt, pulling him close and kissing him silent.  He pulls back too soon, though, and Tony keeps talking, “That is _not_ a fool proof way to—” so Steve kisses him again, this time getting him nice and riled before he settles back in his stool, and Tony just grins sloppily and goes to answer a call for him.

 

“Wait,” one of the twins says, and Steve shrugs.

 

“Sorry, I’m currently in a committed relationship,” he says, turning back to them.

 

“With _two_ men?  How does that even work?”

 

“With a lot of trust and a lot of sex,” he says, and then backtracks, looking toward his beer.  “ _Tony_!” he calls even as the twins roll their eyes and walk away.

 

“Figure out my trick yet?” Tony asks, taking his drink mixing down to Steve.

 

“Did you spike my drink?”

 

“With some absinthe possibly, yes.”  Steve looks at him for a hard moment, and then reaches for his beer, taking a long pull.  Steve coughs when he swallows, hitting his chest once because _holy shit_ , he can taste it when he’s paying attention.  “Uh, yeah, I may have upped the amount every time, so there’s a good possibility that’s about half absinthe at this point.”

 

Steve takes another long pull, and then starts coughing again, shaking his head.  “That’s strong,” he says, his voice a little tight, “Jesus Christ, Tony.  What are you trying to do?”

 

“Get you drunk.  Keep going, see if it’ll work.  Just let go, man, it’s gonna be a good night.”

 

Steve shrugs and downs the rest of his beer.  “I’m up for it,” he says, and Tony lets out a loud holler, doing a little shimmy.

 

“Challenge accepted!” he exclaims, and then bounces off to go mix something crazy.  When he returns, Steve laughs at the strange color, but tries it anyway, and his eyes go wide when it slides down, burning his throat.  “Good?” Tony asks, and his smile is so wide and hopeful that Steve can’t help but laugh.

 

He takes another sip, and this one goes down a little smoother.  “Yeah, it’s—it’s something,” he says, “Keep ‘em coming, mechanic.”

 

“Just remember, I’ve had _years_ to perfect the art of mixing drinks,” Tony says as he leaves him.

 

Tony bounces around, chatting and laughing with various people, and every time Steve’s drink is gone, there’s another one ready.  By the time Bruce gets back, Steve is feeling a little unhinged, but he feels _good_ , and he can’t remember the last time he got to just unwind and let it all go.

 

“Hey!” he exclaims when the door opens, admitting Bruce, who gives him a strange smile as he comes over.

 

“Hey, what’s up with you?”

 

“Tony is experimenting,” he says sagely, nodding.

 

Bruce blinks at him, and then, “Tony!”

 

Tony comes over, a drink in hand.  “Thank you,” he sings, plucking the empty one out of Steve’s hands and dropping another one in.  “Hey lover, how are you?”

 

“What are you doing to him?”

 

“Experimenting,” Tony says, beaming, “A little bit on myself, too, and it’s _nice_.  Come on, you’re hopping on board, no choice.”

 

“The gamma—”

 

“The serum,” Tony counters with before he spins away, though he returns in a few moments with a drink for Bruce, reaches for glasses, and pours three shots.  “Bottoms up, hot stuff,” he says, pushing one in either direction.

 

“Tony,” Bruce begins, but Tony just lifts his shot, shaking his head.

 

“Shut up and drink, smash, I am _experimenting_.”

 

Bruce sighs, but allows Tony to clink glasses with him before they’re knocking the shots back.  Bruce lets out a low growl when he swallows, looking over at Tony in shock.  “The hell was that?” he says, shaking his head once.

 

“Whiskey!” Tony says with a wide smile, though before Bruce can respond, he leans forward, kisses him quick, and then is off.

 

“Just keep drinking,” Steve says, bumping shoulders with Bruce, “I think I’m building the opposite of a tolerance.”

 

“Meaning?” Bruce asks, looking over at Steve with an amused expression.

 

“It’s taking longer for me to get sober again.  Fuck almighty, this is strong,” he gasps as he takes a sip of his current drink.

 

“Good?”

 

“Yeah, actually.  He’s good at this.”

 

Bruce just smiles, tucking in with Steve.

 

——

 

When Tony finally makes last call, Steve is feeling closer to drunk than he has in _years_ , and though he can feel himself sobering up, he’s had _a lot_ to drink, and he can feel it in his body, a little bit achy and a little bit loose.  Bruce is a little bit worse off—though he didn’t drink nearly as much, not even halfway, the gamma radiation doesn’t work as quickly, and so he’s leaning into Steve when they stumble out into the night.  Tony holds his liquor better than he should, and it makes Steve ache a little, even in this state, to think that he’s got a lifetime of alcoholism under his belt, that he’d almost put it all behind him until they came here.  It only reinforces his decision that they need to leave, and soon.

 

When they get back to the house, Bruce is yawning, and Tony makes an obnoxious noise and says, “ _Of course_ you’re a sleepy drunk,” before he shoulders open the door and heads inside.  Steve helps Bruce up the stairs, but he can’t seem to stop staring at Tony’s ass as he walks ahead of them, and it makes his blood stir just thinking about him.

 

“Mm, Steve’s a _horny_ drunk,” Bruce counters with, giving Steve’s chest a slap, “He’s got a nice tush, I know.”

 

“Are you staring at my butt, blondie?” Tony exclaims loudly as he opens their door.

 

They separate when they get inside, Bruce mumbling about tea, Tony singing about a shower, and Steve heading for the window because the room feels too stuffy.  When he opens it, he sighs—it smells like rain, something they haven’t had in _weeks_ , and there is nothing more that he’d like than a thunderstorm.

 

“I am going to _murder_ this tea,” Bruce says when he comes into the room, setting his mug down so he can undo his pants.  He tosses them toward the end of the bed where they topple over onto the floor, throws his shirt after them, and then climbs into bed, pulling the blankets up over his folded legs before he reaches for his tea.  He holds it under his nose, eyes rolling back as he breathes it in, and Steve smiles, just watching him.

 

He lingers by the window for a few more moments until he hears Tony singing in the shower, and then he goes to kiss Bruce on the forehead and say, “I’m going to join him.”

 

“No fun times,” Bruce murmurs, opening his eyes.

 

“Not yet.  Later,” Steve promises, kissing his mouth before he goes to shower.

 

Bruce drinks his tea in bed, in big gulps that burn his throat, lets it settle until his core feels warm, and then he goes to make another cup, taking it over to the window where he can do yoga.  He barely gets through two moves before meditation sounds like a better idea, and so he folds his legs, curls his hands around his tea mug, and closes his eyes, surrendering.

 

Bruce gets a good twenty minutes before the water turns off, and then he starts to resurface, bringing his breathing back up to a normal pace and rousing his body until he hears Tony’s soft voice and Steve’s quiet footsteps, and then he opens his eyes, smiling as they come into the bedroom, their touches lingering.  They always seem to just _know_ whenever he needs to lose himself, needs to find the peace that swells inside of him, and they’re always quiet when he’s in meditation or coming out.

 

They dry off, and Bruce takes a moment to appreciate each of them before they’re pulling on boxer briefs, and then Steve’s threading his fingers through Tony’s wet hair and tipping his head back, kissing him long and slow.  Bruce knows what he’s doing, knows he’s grounding Tony, pulling him into their center, into this world they’ve created just between the three of them, this space that is so warm and so safe that Bruce knows, without a doubt, they will be together for a long, long time because of it.

 

“So, real talk time?” Tony asks after glancing over at Bruce.  He starts to head for the bed, but Bruce shakes his head, rolling his shoulders.

 

“Yoga—one hour,” Bruce says, and that’s the end of it.  They never argue anymore when he asks for group yoga, and so Steve collects their yoga mats from under the bed, tosses Tony his, and heads over to Bruce to roll his out.

 

They start slow, warming their cores and stretching out, chests rising slow and easy until they’re breathing in unison, and then Bruce starts leading them into different poses.  When they’d first done group yoga together, he had talked them quietly through the poses, but they’ve become so attune to one another now that they rarely even need to look at him anymore, they just _know_.

 

As always, Tony starts to drift off into his own little world during warrior two, hips getting lower and lower until he’s barely on this plane of consciousness, and Bruce can never manage to contain his soft laugh when he looks over and sees Tony’s head tipping forward, his whole body getting heavy until Steve’s foot drags over his mat.  He always shakes awake, eyes blinking quickly, and they always laugh at him even as he curls his back, groaning when it cracks.

 

King pigeon is Steve’s favorite, though it had been Tony’s least when Bruce first started introducing more intense poses—he still hates most of the core poses, though he does appreciate their effect.  They’d started out with a simple pigeon in the beginning, and Steve had loved the way it had not only stretched his back, but also his chest, his breaths expanding wider and wider until his whole body felt light.  And then, when Bruce had showed him what made it a king pose, Steve had taken to it almost immediately, and he always feels calmest when his body is curved like this.

 

As they reach the height of core, Bruce’s favorite is the scale pose.  The first time they’d done it, Tony had given up after a few seconds and gone into a sitting half lotus while he waited for them to finish.  He still struggles with it, and he’s even worse off tonight with the alcohol, and so he leaves them to it, getting comfortable as Bruce presses his chest higher, back straight and arms tight, his inhale spreading down to his fingertips and slowly coming back up on the exhale.  He feels safest here, like he can withstand anything as long as he can keep this pose still.  He always falls away, forgets to bring them back, just lets everything slide out of him until he’s slipping into a meditative space, and Steve has to draw him back, body shushing over the mat as he comes back down.

 

Steve lets him have it tonight, though, lets him sink farther and farther in until his fingers are starting to tingle, and then he slowly brings himself back, carefully lowering himself down.  Steve is in half lotus with Tony when he comes back, and he looks over, a little dazed.  “How long was I gone that time?” he asks quietly.

 

“Ten minutes,” Steve says before he leans over, kissing Tony’s shoulder, who groans softly.  It takes him a few moments, but then he’s rolling his head, stretching out his neck, and coming back to them.

 

They finish up with the rest of their core, shift into some slower poses, and then, when they come out, two hours have passed, and it’s just past two in the morning.  “Sorry,” Bruce says when he notices the time.

 

“Don’t apologize,” Tony says, rolling up his mat, “That was _awesome_.  I think I’ve been needing that and just didn’t realize.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “Anytime you want, just say the word.”

 

Bruce smiles, watching them.  He soaks them in for a few, slow moments, absorbing their presence until he can hear every little shift of their bodies.  “Thank you,” he says finally, and though it’s soft, they both smile genuinely.

 

They move together in a way that Bruce always admires, no matter the situation—they are so attune to one another that they’re just _fluid_ , their bodies moving around one another with lingering touches, their eyes so soft every time they meet, and it makes Bruce warm in a way nothing else can manage.  And, right now, his heart slow and his limbs loose, he wants nothing more than to just be close to them.

 

Thunder rolls overhead, thick with wanting, and it stirs something in Bruce that he thinks he’s been stamping out since they got here, something soft and careful.

 

He gets up, going over to the window to pull the thinner of the two curtains over it—they have a white one beneath a thick black one that helps to keep out the heat, and sometimes the sun—before he turns back to the bed, where Steve is reclined on his back, arms folded under his, and Tony is cross-legged, facing him, one of his hands resting against Steve’s thigh, thumb stroking absentmindedly.  Bruce pads across the room, climbs quietly onto the bed behind Tony, and lays a lingering kiss on the back of his shoulder before he nuzzles in against his neck, breathing him in.  “Hey,” Tony says, his hand coming up to thread through Bruce’s curls and massage his head lightly.  When Bruce doesn’t respond, Tony frowns, leaning his head against Bruce’s.  “You okay?” he asks.

 

“Can we talk in the morning?” Bruce asks in return, and Steve nods.

 

“Do you just want to go to sleep?” Steve asks.

 

Bruce lifts his head, leaning forward to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw.  “Little Bruce is _not_ tired,” Tony says suddenly, and they all laugh.

 

“Asslamp,” Bruce grumbles.

 

“You used my word!” Tony exclaims, grinning widely.  Bruce starts to respond, but Tony kisses him quiet, easing him over and onto his back.

 

As always, they just seem to _know_ , and while Tony kisses down Bruce’s torso, Steve distracts his mouth.  The only way Bruce can think to describe it is delicate, though not the kind where Bruce thinks they find him fragile and breakable, but in a caring, easy kind of way.  It’s _love_ , he realizes, and when Tony finally settles in his lap, head tipping back with a gasp, when Steve winds their hands together, his other thumb rubbing slow circles in Bruce’s jaw as he stares down at him, Bruce has to swallow down a building sob.

 

He needs some kind of distraction, he realizes, and so he shifts his gaze to Tony, squeezing Steve’s hand, trying to urge him over.  Steve goes, always the most perceptive of the three of them, and Bruce groans when he hooks his fingers around Tony’s jaw, tilting his head up and holding him there, bruises his mouth with a kiss so passionate that it makes Bruce’s head spin just watching them.  Steve works Tony’s cock in easy, loose strokes, his other hand matching his slow rhythm on his own dick until Bruce is whining, legs tightening as he arches up into Tony, fingers kneading in his thighs.  “Tony,” he gasps, and then Steve is everywhere, his presence filling Bruce until he feels like he might burst, small, flittering kisses across his chest and up to his shoulders, pressing along his throat and sternum until Bruce is tangling a hand in his hair and pulling up so he can kiss him, can taste the heat of his mouth even as he cock throbs in the heat of Tony’s ass.

 

He comes like this, so overwhelmed with both of them, his _being_ warmed by the nearness of them, and it’s a shattering orgasm that rises up like a swelling wave in him, crashing over as he tips away from Steve, toes curling tight as a soft cry is pulled from him, hips twitching upward into Tony even as his roll down, letting Bruce fill him as he trembles lightly.

 

Tony waits until Bruce starts to come down, and then he slides from him, graceful in a way he hadn’t really known Tony _could_ be.  When he looks over, still shaking and still breathless, one of Tony’s legs is hooked over Steve’s shoulder, and they’re pressed so closely together, Bruce wouldn’t be able to tell where they begin and end without the moonlight.  It’s beautiful in a way that makes him ache.

 

He shifts toward them without realizing, kissing Steve’s arm.  Steve opens to him immediately, arm coming up and around to pull Bruce closer, to trap him inside their heat until Steve’s rolling them over onto their sides, and Bruce slides as close to Tony as he can get, wraps an arm around him, fingers bracketed over the arc reactor.  Steve’s thigh slots between Bruce’s, pushes against him as he rolls his hips into Tony, fills him and leaves him trembling.

 

Bruce closes his eyes and rests the bridge of his nose against the nape of Tony’s neck, absorbing every part of him.  Steve’s hand flitters along his side until Bruce tangles their fingers together, and then Tony’s head is tipping back a little, shifting closer to Bruce, as Steve kisses him.

 

Steve comes first, and Bruce can tell right before he does, in the little whine that builds in the back of his throat, slipping through his hitching breaths, until his chest is tightening, and he always presses closer, always needs to be as near to the other person as possible, right before he tips over, shuddering his release as he squeezes Bruce’s hand tightly.

 

Tony is trembling _hard_ when Steve pulls out, panting softly.  “Steve—Bruce,” he manages, his breaths coming fast, “Fuck, I’m—I’m so, _so_ fucking close.”  The sky splits with a bright crack of lightning, and then the rain starts.

 

Steve nudges at his shoulder as Bruce shimmies back, and Tony rolls onto his back, eyes closing as he tips his head back, baring his throat.  Steve takes advantage, leaving soft bites up the column of his throat, and Tony groans, hands fisting in the sheets until Bruce slides down the bed and takes his cock in his mouth, swallows him down until Tony’s voice is pitching from a moan to a keen.

 

Steve joins him, fingers sliding easily into Tony’s ass, pressing upward toward his prostate, rubbing over it as Bruce sucks at his cock, until Tony screams, struggling to stay on the bed as he comes down Bruce’s throat, his whole body shaking as Steve fucks his fingers into his ass.

 

“Fuck,” Tony groans, one hand coming up to push at Steve, and he pulls away, his other hand coming up to thread through Bruce’s curls, tugging until Bruce goes, and Steve kisses him, long and slow, tasting Tony on his tongue.

 

It’s three o’clock when they’ve finished cleaning up and finally collapsed on the bed.  The thunder is louder now, closer, and the night is pregnant with the scent of rain.  They curl together, Tony between them, one of his legs slotted between Steve’s, one of Bruce’s lined up with his, Steve’s draped over both of them.  It’s quiet and easy, and though the world doesn’t shift, though Steve’s thumb keeps moving in slow circles over Bruce’s shoulder, though Tony’s breathing gets slower and slower until he’s fast asleep, Bruce thinks he may be in love with them, and he’s content to just lie there and let the feeling settle in as he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to each of you that left a comment on the last chapter. It really meant a lot to me, knowing that there are people reading who look forward to new chapters. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, and I know it’s been said by every author ever, but feedback is what keeps me writing. If I didn’t have friends that read each new draft of my novels, I wouldn’t keep going back to them, seeing what needed to be reworked, and producing new drafts. The same goes with fanfiction—if I don’t give myself feedback through editing, I won’t post, and then, if there is no feedback to a post, then I don’t see reason in continuing. So, thank you. It made me smile more than you can imagine, and I appreciate every one of you that reads this, :) I hope you enjoyed this apparently very long chapter, and get ready because shit’s about to hit the fan in a big way. Don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t leave me,” he whispers, “Please. I—I need you. I _love you_.”

In the morning, when Steve wakes, Tony is gone, and he sighs, staring at the empty space between him and Bruce.  They need to talk this out, but it looks like it’s not going to happen today, so he gets out of bed, showers and dresses, and is gone before Bruce wakes up.

 

In the basement, Tony is hacking lazily, Jarvis cleaning up his tracks while he sifts about, peeking in different ghost files before a message finally pops up, _Stop looking into things that don’t concern you, stark spangled banner._

_I think I’m allowed, considering,_ Tony types back before stretching, rolling his shoulders back until his spine pops, and then he gets to work, moving in and doubling up Fury’s security until even he would be hard-pressed to break in.  He pulls a video chat up, waves, and says, “How’s it hanging, eye patch?”

 

Fury comes into life, pixels forming slowly, and then Tony’s freezing, hands hovering over his keyboard, immobile.  Upstairs, he can hear Steve coming down the stairs, and he wishes he never got out of bed.

 

“Fury,” he barely whispers, just staring at the sidearm pointed at his head.

 

“Run,” Fury says, and then he’s gone, the gunshot echoing and breaking Tony out of his stupor.

  
“Jarvis, watch my back,” he says before he jumps in and tears it all down, destroying everything he comes across, releasing everything he’s got until Jarvis kills the connection, monitors going dead, blocking out the incoming intrusion.  “Jay?”

 

“Safe, sir.”

 

Tony just sits there in disbelief, staring at the wall.  “No one is to come down here besides me,” he says coldly before he stands and leaves.

 

——

 

Bruce wakes up alone.

 

He sighs and rolls over, reaching for one of the earphones lying nearby.  When he pushes it in, he gives it a tap and says, “Jarvis?”

 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end, not even static, and it makes him frown.  He carefully takes it out and puts it back on the nightstand, staring at it for a few moments before he lies back and stares at the ceiling.  Minutes tick by as he fights with himself, a battle he’s been having since the moment he agreed to this crazy idea.

 

Finally, he gets up and gets ready for the day, shouldering his backpack and heading downstairs.  He stops at the lovers’ door, knocking and waiting.  Natasha lets him in, and Bruce sighs when she opens the door.  “Shut up,” she mumbles before turning back into their flat.  She looks exhausted, and she’s wearing Clint’s pants and shirt, making her look even smaller than usual.

 

Bruce follows her into the living room, sitting next to her on the sofa.  “How are you feeling?” he asks, setting his backpack on the floor and opening it.

 

“Like shit,” Natasha says, “We barely slept, and Clint’s out doing the shopping right now, but I’m so afraid he isn’t going to come back.”

 

“He loves you,” Bruce says, “He’ll come back.”

 

He starts her check-up as Natasha says, “And you love Tony, but you’ve never said it.  You and me, doc, we’re one in the same.”  Bruce pauses, meeting her gaze.  “You’re not the only perceptive one in the world, Bruce,” she sighs, shrugging one shoulder, “Are you ever going to tell Tony?”  Bruce drops his gaze again, going back to his work.  “Or are you waiting until you’re sure you’ve fallen in love with Steve, too, so you can tell them both at the same time?”

 

“Natasha,” Bruce sighs.

 

“This place is so toxic,” she says, shaking her head, “I don’t know how much more of it I can take, how much more _we_ can take.”

 

“Clint feels the same?” Bruce asks, straightening.

 

“We talked a lot last night.  We want to go home.  Even if it’s to a padded cell, we can’t be here anymore.”

 

Bruce looks away abruptly.  He feels too exposed, and he’s terrified that Natasha will see it there on his face, see everything that’s screaming to be let out, but then she reaches for his hand, taking it in both of hers, and he doesn’t mean to look at her, but he feels so lost, it makes him ache.

 

“You’re not coming back, are you?” she whispers, and Bruce closes his eyes.  “Have you told them?”

 

“I can’t leave them,” he mumbles.

 

“But you will.”

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Bruce admits, and he can’t break in front of Natasha, he _can’t_ , so he collects his things, promises to check on her later that night, and then tries his hardest to walk calmly down the stairs and out into the open street.

 

——

 

Steve has barely been at work for ten minutes when everything goes south.

 

He leaves his backpack somewhere safe, checks over his shoulder that his motorcycle is still there, and then turns around to find Jimmy approaching him, alone, his jaw ugly and discolored.  “Hey, _asshole_!” Jimmy calls, and Steve sighs, turning away to take the long route to the section he’s been working on.  The two privates come out from the woodworks, though, and Steve should have known better.

 

He considers, for half a second, letting them have their way today, but then one of them takes a wild swing, and he’s had enough.

 

Steve puts all his power behind one of his fists, lets it cave in against one of the privates’ chests, and though he thinks he hears something crack, he spins around, foot coming up to catch the other one at the knees, sending him sprawling.  The first one starts screaming as Jimmy descends on him, and Steve jerks around, grabs his arm, and hauls it back.  He means to dislocate it, but he misjudges the strength of his anger, and it snaps backward farther than he means, a nasty crack splitting through the air.

 

Jimmy goes down immediately, crying out, and Steve stumbles backward, eyes wide and mouth agape.  “Rogers!” he hears his boss’ voice, and then he’s gone.

 

He grabs his backpack and sprints through the lot, barely making it to his bike before the shaking starts.  He doesn’t see Bruce on his travels, so he makes for the garage, praying that Tony’s there, that maybe he knows where Bruce is.

 

When he arrives and kills the engine, he can hear Tony’s laugh, and he hurries to dismount, making a beeline for the one sound he loves more than anything.  Tony is sitting with Bruce, laughing at some tale he’s telling him, though he looks up at Steve’s footsteps, his mouth fading into a fond smile.  “Hey you,” he says, cutting Bruce off.

 

Bruce turns, smile mirroring Tony’s as he sees Steve approaching, though it starts to falter when he notices his expression.  “What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, standing.  He gets the brunt of Steve’s fear, of his fury, of his desperate need to be held, Steve crushing them together even as he reaches for Tony, who stands, letting himself be pulled into the embrace.

 

They wind their arms around their soldier, holding him tight as Steve shakes in their arms.  “Steve,” Tony whispers, nuzzling against him, “What happened?”

 

“Can we go somewhere?” Steve mumbles into Bruce’s neck, “I just need to get out of here for a while.”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce says, rubbing Steve’s back, “Yeah, of course.”

 

“Let’s go to the beach,” Tony offers, and Steve nods, pulling back.

 

“Yeah, that sounds—that sounds great.”

 

“Why don’t you head back to the house, then, and we’ll meet you there, take the jeep.”

 

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, and he starts to turn, but he still feels a burning need to be near them, to hold them and know it’s all still real, it’s all still okay, so he kisses them each in turn, long and slow and full of everything he’s too afraid to say out loud.

 

When he’s gone, Bruce looks over at Tony like he has the answers, but Tony just shrugs and goes to collect his things.

 

——

 

They end up at a different section of the beach, Bruce hooking a backpack over his shoulder as Steve goes to the edge of a rocky decline and just stares out at the water.  Tony goes over to him, stepping in front of him and winding Steve’s arms around him, leaning back into his space.  “I love you,” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss to Tony’s mess of hair.

 

Tony hums.  “I love you, too.”  He snuggles back into Steve briefly before tipping his head back, and Steve smiles softly, leaning down to kiss his mouth.  When he pulls away, Tony lifts his head and says, “Come on.  I think I see a cave over there.”

 

And so they make their way out, picking through way through the boulders.  Tony has terrible balance and keeps wobbling around until Steve is in stitches laughing at him.  They stop halfway because Tony’s grumbling, Steve is wheezing, and Bruce has started stumbling because he’s distracted laughing.  Bruce dumps down onto a mostly flat boulder and shrugs off his backpack, digging inside until he comes up with a piece of fruit for each of them, as well as water.

 

“Are we talking about it today?” he asks after a while of quiet.

 

“No,” Tony says, “We are most definitely not.  Let’s talk about—African bush vipers!  Jay, hit me with some smarts!”  And so, for the next half hour, as they pick their way across the rocks, Tony spouts random facts about the snake until they finally reach level ground, and Bruce kisses him quiet as Steve just keeps on laughing.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bruce says when he pulls away from Tony, who’s grinning widely.

 

“Guys!” Steve calls from up ahead, “This is awesome!”

 

“Come on!” Tony exclaims, so excited he’s bouncing a little when he reaches for Bruce’s hand and tugs him along.

 

They follow Steve, who is already deep in the cave, Bruce gets distracted halfway looking at some type of plant, and Tony keeps going, calling for Steve and grinning when it echoes, until he looks back, meaning to say something to Bruce, and he’s alone, the darkness tight and hot around him.

 

Tony lets out a breath like a whistle, thin and sharp.  “No,” he gasps, lifting a hand to his chest and closing it over the reactor, fingers like a trap, nails pressing in as he tries to ground himself.  “Steve!” he calls frantically, turning again, but it’s so dark, the reactor barely illuminates more than the few inches in front of it.  “Bruce!”

 

No answer returns to him, so Tony squeezes his eyes shut and tries to count in his head, tries to slow his breathing, but all he can think about is Afghanistan, the dark heat surrounding him, and he needs to get out.

 

He turns around again and stumbles back the way he’d come, his inhales getting shorter and shorter until he can see a little pinprick of light, and he starts running.  He can hear them behind him, their feet thudding, shouting in so many languages even Yinsen couldn’t keep up, but Yinsen is dead, and he’s alone, and when he bursts out of the cave and into the sunlight, it’s too much, too bright, and he collapses, his throat closing up and cutting off his inflow of air even as his chest squeezes, tightens and threatens to explode.

 

“Steve,” he gasps, and then the darkness invades, pulling him down under.

 

Bruce looks up, frowning as he hears heavy footsteps thud past him, and then, a few seconds later, another set, farther off.  “Steve?” he calls over his shoulder.

 

Bruce gets to his feet, moving back toward the mouth of the cave even as the footsteps behind him draw nearer.  He’s just nearing the sunlight when he sees Tony drop, and he breaks into a sprint.  “ _Steve_!” he screams as he reaches the mouth of the cave and skids to a stop by Tony, falling to his knees.  “Tony!” he shouts, fingers darting up to his neck, feeling.  “No,” Bruce says, leaning back and struggling out of his backpack, “Not here.  Don’t you dare do this to me.  _Steve_!”

 

Bruce throws his backpack to the side and then rises up on his knees, his right hand feeling down Tony’s sternum until he finds the right place, and then he folds his hands together and starts compressing.  He counts, his breaths coming out too fast, and he’s shaking by the time Steve comes crashing out of the cave.  Bruce shifts, tipping Tony’s head back and pressing their mouths together, exhaling.

 

Steve doesn’t ask, just drops down on his other side and waits for Bruce to lift away before he starts his own sets, and Bruce watches the way his shoulders move, lets himself, for a brief second, admire the way Steve withholds so much of his strength, draws it all back and delivers only what is necessary.

 

They take turns, Steve leaning back as Bruce leans forward, Bruce checking his watch every time Steve is compressing, until, after a full two minutes, Bruce doesn’t lean forward again, just sits on his heels and stares at Tony’s unmoving chest.

 

“Bruce!” Steve screams, his voice cracking as he jumps forward again, compressing.

 

“Steve, he’s gone,” Bruce whispers, gaze traveling up to Tony’s slack mouth, his closed eyes.

 

“ _Bruce_!” Steve roars.

 

“Steve, he’s—he’s dead.  _Stop_.”

 

Steve’s hand comes whipping around and backhands him.  Bruce’s head goes with the slap, gasping.

 

“Adrenaline,” he says, scrambling upright and over to his bag.  He tears through it until he finds his med kit, and he starts yelling in frustration when he can’t find it.

 

“Bruce, _hurry_!”

 

He almost drops it, a little vial that tumbles out, over his palm, and smacks against the ground, rolling toward the edge, but he grabs it, fumbles until he finds a syringe, and then hurries back over, dropping down next to Tony again.  “Steve,” he says because his shoulders aren’t restrained anymore, “Steve!”

 

Steve keeps compressing, desperate.  He can’t lose Tony, not here, not now, not when he needs him the most.

 

“ _Steve_!”

 

Bruce shoulders him out of the way, straddles Tony’s waist as he plunges the needle through the cork, drawing the adrenaline up into the syringe.  He feels along his chest, looks over at Steve, who nods furiously, and then brings the syringe down, stabbing through Tony’s chest, and depressing.

 

Steve counts the seconds, six in total, before Tony comes back with a dull roar, heaving up off the ground and sending Bruce sprawling.

 

“Holy _fuck_!” he yells, sagging back down, “Who the _fuck_ has been tap dancing on my chest?  _Shit_ , it hurts to breathe.”

 

“How dare you!” Steve explodes, glaring at Bruce.

 

“Steve, no, I—”

 

“You were going to let him _die_!”

 

“Steve—”

 

“You gave up on him—on _Tony_!”

 

“Steve—”

 

“I am kind of still freaking out!” Tony shouts over them, and then groans loudly, hand pressing against his chest.

 

Steve struggles to remain still, but then Tony’s smacking him, and he turns his attention down to him, softening as he lifts a hand and curls it around his jaw.  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispers, and then he can’t contain the flood, needs to release _something_ , and his head drops down onto Tony’s forehead, tears leaking out of his eyes.

 

“I’m here, I’m okay,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to thread a hand through his hair, “I’m fucking exhausted, though.”

 

“Home,” is all Steve says, and Tony nods, releasing him.

 

Steve carefully gathers Tony in his arms and stands.  Bruce steps toward them, hand lifting, but Steve’s tight jaw stops him.  “Don’t touch him,” he says coolly.

 

“Steve—”

 

“Ever again.”

 

——

 

Tony fights desperately to stay awake once they’re back in the jeep, Bruce at the wheel and Steve in the back with him, letting Tony stretch out and settle in between his legs, leaned back against his chest.  When he finally does fall asleep, though, Steve stares out the opposite window, refusing to acknowledge Bruce.

 

“Steve,” Bruce sighs eventually, “You have to know I didn’t _want_ him to die.  He just—he _was dead_.  Serious brain damage starts to set in after three minutes, and—”

 

“You gave up on him,” Steve says, his voice so steady and calm that a shiver runs through Bruce, “You were ready to let him go.”

 

“Steve—”

 

“I will _never_ be ready to let him go, and though I know there will come a time, when we are old, that I will have to, but not now, not _here_.”

 

“I wasn’t giving up,” Bruce says, defeated, “There was nothing left I could do.  As a doctor—”

 

“Of science,” Steve cuts him off, “Don’t pretend to diagnose him.  Don’t pretend that you didn’t sit there and just stare at him.  Don’t pretend that you hadn’t decided his life wasn’t worth saving anymore.”

 

Bruce swallows down the rising fury and holds it inside of him until they finally reach the village, and then he throws the jeep into park violently at their apartment, turns, and says, his voice low and trembling, “I would die for him.  I would risk everything to maintain his safety.  Don’t you _dare_ presume I would ever feel otherwise.  Don’t speak to me,” he snaps when Steve opens his mouth.

 

Bruce throws open the driver’s side door, grabs his backpack, and gets out.  Steve follows, Tony cradled in his arms, and they go upstairs together in silence.  When they get into the apartment, Bruce points toward the bedroom and says, “Lay him down, and then go take a walk.  Go sit on the roof.  Just _go_.  I don’t give a fuck what you think right now, I need to _play doctor_ and help him.”

 

To his surprise, Steve obeys, getting Tony comfortable before he disappears.  Bruce goes into the bedroom only once he’s gone, and he goes slow, letting his body and mind relax until it’s all coming naturally again, until he’s back in his element and he feels in control.  When he’s sure Tony will be okay, for now, he crawls into bed next to him and sighs, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

 

He lies down on his side, staring at his chest, watching it rise and fall, rise and fall, until Bruce is crying without meaning to, and he slides closer to Tony, pressing his face into his side.  “Don’t leave me,” he whispers, “Please.  I—I need you.  I _love you_.”

 

Tony remains still beside him, far in the depths of slumber, and so Bruce just curls an arm around him and tries to hold onto him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, that was very intense. When I first began this fic, I had no idea it would get to this point, but alas. They’ve still got more to go through, though nothing quite like this, but I promise, it will end happily.
> 
> On another note, I’ve gotten some great feedback for the college au, which will be posted once this is finished, so keep an eye out! If you follow me on tumblr, it’s the same username, sleeponrooftops, and I’ve been posting “episodes” of something stupid that I’m calling “mary flails about the college au.” It’s just little posts about different things that will be happening in it. There are two currently, one about Maria and one about Saint Patrick’s Day. As I post this, I’ve just passed the 85k mark, and I’m so close to being done with Christmas break. I’ve got Maria’s gallery opening and then some horrible things with Howard, and then the boys will be back at school.
> 
> It’s late, though, and I should go to bed soon, so I hope you enjoyed this, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “America is a poison we finally sucked out of our lives, and you want us to go back,” Bruce continues, “You want us to go somewhere that has a price on our heads, that will shoot on sight, that _exiled_ us. You want us to return to _that_? You go right ahead, but don’t expect me to follow.”

In the morning, Bruce is the last one awake, coming up out of slumber slowly, his body heavy and warm, and the sun is high, filling the room in brilliant bursts.  When he opens his eyes, Steve is lying on his front, his face turned toward him, his eyes half open, long lashes shading the blue.  “Morning,” Bruce mumbles, yawning, and then he remembers.

 

Steve hums, reaching out a hand to curl around Bruce’s arm, thumb stroking the inside of his elbow lightly.  “Good morning,” he says after a moment.

 

Bruce holds his breath, waiting.  After a moment, Steve sighs and tugs on Bruce’s arm.

 

He looks so soft and sleepy that Bruce scoots closer, tipping his head forward to kiss his nose.  Steve lets his eyes shut, his breath coming out slow and warm, and there’s this moment of decisive silence between them before he turns his head up so Bruce can kiss his mouth.  They lie there together, just breathing in the physical presence of each other, until something clatters in the kitchen, and Steve pushes up, looking over Bruce’s shoulder.  “You okay?” he calls.

 

“Shut up, and go back to sleep!” Tony yells from the kitchen.

 

“He demanded to be left alone to his own devises,” Steve says, dropping back down, “Come here, you.”  He reaches out, pulling Bruce closer to him, their legs tangling together as Steve kisses him, this long, beautiful thing that leaves Bruce feeling a little breathless.  He tucks up under Steve’s chin after, closing his eyes as he presses closer to him, letting Steve wind his strong arms around him.  “I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, and Bruce almost breaks.

 

“I’m so sorry, Steve, I never meant for any of this to happen,” he murmurs, trying to hide.

 

Steve shushes him and rubs a hand over his back, and they stay curled together until Tony finally arrives with breakfast, which is mostly just scrambled eggs and fruit, and they sit in bed together eating, talking about nothing because they’re avoiding the real conversation.

 

Finally, though, when the plates are put away and everyone is together, Bruce says, “You need to rest,” to Tony, and then, “We should probably talk about this.”

 

“Avoidance is the key to life,” Tony murmurs, and they both roll their eyes at him.

 

There’s a long moment of silence before Steve says, “You know where I stand.  I want to go home.”

 

“This _is_ our home now,” Bruce says, frowning, “We’ve built a life here.  We’re safer here than we ever could have hoped for in New York.”

 

“Bruce—” Steve tries.

 

“No, I’ve been quiet for far too long,” Bruce cuts him off, “This is where we belong now.  We did what we were supposed to do in New York, we saved them _multiple_ times, and look how they repaid us.  We were _exiled_ , Steve, and you want to go _back_?  That’s so wrong on so many levels.”

 

“It’s not _wrong_ to want to go home to a place that is familiar to all of us, that has done nothing but open its arms to us.  They could have exiled us from the very beginning.  We are freaks to them, and yet they allowed us to live in their city.”

 

“In _their_ city?” Bruce counters even as Tony reaches for him, but he smacks Tony’s hand away, “It is a shared city.  It does not belong to anyone, but the fact that such a stigma exists at all is why we shouldn’t go back there.  Yes, we _are_ freaks, but here, we don’t have to be.  In the five months since we came here, I have Hulked out _once_.  Tony doesn’t have a target on his back anymore, doesn’t have the threat of something like Afghanistan happening again.  You—”

 

“No, he just has a target on his heart,” Steve snaps, “Because that’s so much better.”

 

“You—” but Bruce finds he can’t continue, is too furious to continue, and he pushes up off the bed, starting to walk away when he spins, coming back.  “You’re such a hypocrite.”

 

“Bruce,” Tony says, looking over at him with wide eyes.

 

“Because I love my country?” Steve seethes, getting off the bed, as well, “Because I want to go back to the people we swore to protect, with our lives?  Because I—”

 

“Because you’re just another _weapon_ to them,” Bruce spits.

 

The room falls silent, so still that Tony feels a little claustrophobic just being in the same vicinity as them.  Steve stares at Bruce like he’s hit him.

 

“America is a poison we finally sucked out of our lives, and you want us to go back,” Bruce continues, “You want us to go somewhere that has a price on our heads, that will shoot on sight, that _exiled_ us.  You want us to return to _that_?  You go right ahead, but don’t expect me to follow.”

 

“And you think _he’s_ a hypocrite?” Tony shouts, staring at Bruce in horror, “Are you even listening to yourself?  Bruce, you—you—I can’t even _fathom_ what makes you think saying that is okay.”  Tony presses a hand against his chest, his breathing getting a little unsteady.

 

“Tony, no, it’s fine,” Steve says, not looking at either of them, “He’s just—”

 

“He’s just channeling his anger from how _one_ man decided the fate of his life.  Why do you think he’s here?”  Tony gets up, as well, crossing the room to stand opposite Bruce, “Why do you _think_ he wants to go back?”  His hands are shaking, and he feels like he’s too close to some kind of attack, any kind, and it terrifies him, but he can’t step down, he can’t let this go on.

 

Bruce just stares at him.

 

“Tony, maybe we should—”

 

“Shut _up_!” he roars, rounding on Steve, “Stop defending him!”  His chest is tight, and it’s hard to breathe, but he keeps going, keeps pushing, “I get it, okay?  I _get it_.  You fought and fought and fought until they finally gave you a chance, and then, when it was finally time to fight bullies and defend your country, they took that away and made you into a glorified puppet, and, if that wasn’t enough, then they turned you into a weapon!  They did the same thing to Bruce, but he refused to take responsibility for his life, refused to stand up against General Ross and tell him to fuck off!”

 

“Like you would have done?” Bruce snaps, his hand whipping out to grab at Tony and yank him back around to face him, “You would have gotten in his face and told him to just _fuck off_?”

 

“ _You know I would have_!  I would have done _anything_ to take control of my own life!  I _did_!  They told me to build a fucking _missile_ in Afghanistan, so, instead, I built Mark I, and _I_ decided when my life would be over!  I didn’t let them push me into exile, push me into running away!  I fought back, just like Steve did, just like you are doing now!  I get it, Bruce, I get why you want to stay here, but we have to go back, we have to stand in front of those guns and _dare_ them to shoot on sight.  If we don’t, why even _bother_ calling ourselves a team?  If we don’t, then we are no better than the people who acted on impulse and cornered us.”

 

“You—” Bruce starts, but Tony just yanks his arm out of Bruce’s hold.

 

“Yes, _me_!” he shouts, stepping forward and getting in his face, “Did you forget that my heart _stopped_ yesterday?  Did it slip your mind that I am _dying_ here?  I deserve to be selfish, just this once!  My life is at risk, and I will not be told to _obey_ , not again!”

 

“When have you _ever_ obeyed someone?” Bruce mutters, looking away.

 

“How do you think Obadiah created Iron Monger?” he screams, and then he jerks back a step, lifting a trembling hand to his chest again, resting it over the reactor, and he’s so close to falling over the edge that he feels like he might pass out, might let go and never come back.

 

“We have to go back,” Steve says, “All of us need to.  There’s too much, Bruce, it’s too toxic here.”

 

“It’s _not_!” Bruce exclaims, “It’s _safe_ here.”

 

“How?”

 

“What?” Bruce asks, brows drawing together in confusion.

 

“How is it safe?  Give me one example where we have not endangered our lives being here.”

 

Bruce finds he can’t answer, and so he drops his gaze from Steve’s.  “I can’t go back,” he says quietly, “I can’t go through it again.”

 

“If you stay,” Tony begins, not looking at him, “Don’t expect me to stay with you.”

 

“Because your loyalty lies with Steve,” Bruce mutters resentfully.

 

“Yes, Bruce!  Okay!  Is that what you want to hear?” Tony explodes, swallowing it all down, shoving it away to deal with it later as he closes the distance between them and shoving Bruce _hard_ , “ _Of course_ my loyalty lies with Steve, I _love_ him, but do you think that means I don’t love you, as well?  It would _destroy_ me if I had to leave you behind, but I refuse to dig my own grave by staying here, I refuse to let this place kill me when I know, without a doubt, that I will survive in New York.  You _cannot_ ask me to choose, and if you do, I will never forgive you for it.  I love you, both of you, and I—shit.”

 

He looks over at Steve, who is staring at him with wide eyes, though it’s not quite disbelief he sees there, but understanding.  When he shifts his gaze to Bruce, though, it’s pure fear, a primal rush of terror.

 

“You can’t,” he says, shaking his head slowly, “Tony, you can’t.”

 

“Well, fuck,” Tony says, his shoulders sagging, “That’s too bad, isn’t it?  And you know what, you really suck because you’re blocking the door right now, and I can’t run away, and I think we should just stop having this argument, and _bye_ ,” he finishes with because then he remembers the bathroom, and he almost breaks into a run as he hurries over to it, slamming the door behind him.

 

“Bruce,” Steve tries, but Bruce turns away before he can continue.  The front door closes quietly behind him a moment later, and Steve is left standing in the middle of the room, alone.

 

——

 

Steve only waits long enough for Bruce to be gone before he goes to the bathroom, laying a hand against the door as he leans his head against the wood.  “Tony,” he says softly.

 

“Please go away,” Tony says, his voice muffled, but it’s enough that Steve can make out that he’s close, sitting against the door.  He sits with him, lifting his hand up.  On the other side, Tony closes his eyes and presses his hand against the door.  “I love you,” he whispers.

 

“I know,” Steve says.

 

They sit in silence until Tony can’t take it anymore, and he pulls his knees up against his chest, his hand still pressed against the door as he hides his face in his thighs.  He tries to swallow it down, tries to keep it contained, but he can’t stop the oncoming storm, and it comes rising up in him, rolls out in a sob that he tries desperately to force back down.  He cries quietly, his shoulders shaking as he waits, and waits, and waits.

 

“Steve,” he breaks finally, “Why won’t you say it back?”

 

“Will you always?”

 

He can’t keep this one quiet, and the sob tears through him, shattering him apart even as he leans away from the door because he knows, _he knows_ , and Steve reaches for the doorknob, pulling it open.  “Tony,” he sighs, reaching for him.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he gasps, flinching away, “Please don’t touch me.”

 

“Tony—”

 

Tony lifts his face, his eyes red and swollen, tears lining his cheeks.  “Please,” he says, his lower lip trembling, “How could you ever think I would stop loving you?  Steve, I—I am here, I am _alive_ because of you.  You gave me the strength to move on when I thought the darkness would swallow me whole, when I thought that I’d only come out of that wormhole to fade away until there was nothing left, and you _saved_ me.  You gave me a reason to keep going, and you think I could _ever_ stop loving you?  You are my entire world, Steve.  I will always love you, no matter what happens.  I will never stop.  I will follow you into New York, and if that means I end up on my knees staring down the barrel of a gun, I will be there, as long as you are by my side.  I _adore_ you.”

 

Steve remains still for a few moments, and then he reaches out a hand, his fingers trembling lightly.  Tony gives his hand over immediately, letting Steve tangle their fingers together and lift it to his mouth, kissing Tony’s knuckles.  “Promise?”

 

“I promise,” Tony says, nodding.

 

“But you love Bruce, as well?”

 

“I might.  Is that okay?”

 

“I might be on my way.”  Tony nods, blue eyes still stuck on Steve’s until Steve leans forward, kissing him softly.  “I love you,” he whispers.

 

Tony stays strong until Steve leans back, and then he breaks, reaching for him.  “Steve, _please_.”  Steve comes back, folding Tony away in his arms and letting him hide in his chest, crying.

 

——

 

Eventually, Steve gets Tony back to bed, staying with him until he falls asleep.  It takes some time, Tony still too wound up to calm down, and so Steve winds them closely together, breathing audibly until Tony starts to breathe with him.  Finally, though, Tony drifts off, falling into a fitful slumber.  Steve stays only until he’s sure Tony won’t wake, and then he carefully extracts himself and gets out of bed.

 

He’s halfway across the bedroom when the door opens.

 

Bruce stops on the threshold, gaze on Steve, who sighs after a moment and turns away.  They go silently out into the warm day.  The air is still heavy with rain, the sky swelling with the desire to release its tears.  They sit on the roof, not touching, but close, and, for a brief moment, they’re okay.

 

When Bruce sighs, Steve closes his eyes—he didn’t know it was going to hurt this much, didn’t know he had let Bruce settle so deep in his heart.

 

“I need to leave,” Bruce says softly.

 

“Please don’t,” Steve whispers.

 

“Not forever.  I just—I can’t be here anymore, but I can’t go back to New York yet, either.  Being here, staying here with you and Tony, _I_ am the reason we’re still here, and I need to remove myself.  I’m sorry, Steve.  I never meant for any of this to happen.”

 

“Will you say goodbye to him?”

 

“It would be worse if I didn’t, in the long run, but harder to leave if I do, right now.  I just have one request.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Bruce looks over at Steve, waiting for Steve to look at him before he says, “Just stay until it’s safe to travel.  Tony and Natasha are still healing, and it may take some time.”

 

Steve nods, and then, too Bruce’s great surprise, Steve scoots closer and pulls Bruce into a tight, warm hug.  “Please come back,” he whispers, and Bruce holds onto him, trying to memorize the weight of his presence.

 

——

 

Steve waits just outside while Bruce gathers his things and then sits next to Tony, stroking his hair until he reaches to squeeze his shoulder lightly.

 

Tony wakes slowly, and, when he sees Bruce, Steve aches for him because he _knows_.  “Why?” Tony asks.

 

“I need to keep you safe,” Bruce whispers, taking his hand back, “Being here, _keeping_ you here—you need to go home, Tony, but I’m not ready.”

 

“Will you come back?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Steve links his arms over his head, trying to block everything out.  He knows why Bruce is feigning uncertainty, knows that if he doesn’t give Tony hope, then they’ll both be able to heal.

 

“Don’t leave me,” Tony says when Bruce stands, his voice cracking.

  
“You’ll be okay,” Bruce murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

 

“Bruce,” he pleads, but Bruce is already shouldering his backpack.  He looks back at the window, and Steve lifts his head, holding his breath.

 

“I love you,” Bruce whispers, and he thinks he might mean it to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the next chapter will be the last. I’m sorry these last three are a little short. I would have put them together, but I think they worked better separately. Thank you to everyone who has been commenting, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts on this one!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the five months since they fled Cuba and returned to New York, more than Tony ever expected has happened.

A week passes.

 

They slowly begin to heal even as they prepare to leave.

 

Another week passes.

 

Natasha starts sparring with Clint.  Tony starts tinkering with the suit, getting it ready.  Steve starts hiding any and all evidence of their presence here.

 

And then, nearly three weeks since Bruce left, they make plans to sit down the following day and discuss their options.

 

The night before, after a simple dinner that Tony surprises Steve with, after slow, lazy sex—the first time they’ve been together since it all fell apart—they lay together, naked in the warm, dark night.  It takes a little longer for Tony to catch his breath as he settles in the circle of Steve’s arms, idly tracing patterns over Steve’s chest.

 

“We’re finally going home,” Steve whispers, one hand brushing over Tony’s back.

 

“Jarvis is excited to be back in business,” Tony says, and Steve laughs softly.

 

“And you?”

 

“I’m ready.  I am _so_ done with having a day job.”

 

“Are you nervous about what might happen?”

 

“As long as I have you, I’ll be okay.”  Tony shifts, pressing upward so he can see Steve.  “You’re our Captain, our leader.  We’ll follow you anywhere.”  Steve smiles, and Tony leans forward to kiss him.  “I’m tired,” Tony murmurs, stretching, “Get the blanket, my feet are cold.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, and Steve does as he’s told, holding Tony close.

 

——

 

“Sir, Captain Rogers is looking for you.”

 

Tony grunts in response, fingers dancing over his keyboard.  He’s inside SHIELD, barely covering his tracks as he tears it apart.

 

“Sir.”

 

“Hang tight, Jay.”

 

He shakes his head as someone tries to slip in and counterattack.  “Stupid son of a bitch,” he mutters.  In a few, quick strokes, he destroys their profile, sends a kill order—when he was first introduced to SHIELD, he hacked his way in and left a virus that he’s been using to infiltrate their system ever since—and moves onto the next section.  He spends fifteen minutes ripping everything he comes across apart, slowly imploding the SHIELD mainframe in on itself.  He leaves the superheroes files intact, backing them up on a second ghost drive that he marks so he can find it later, but everything else is torn to shreds.  Every agent that comes even a step in his direction is executed in every fashion Tony can manage.

 

“Sir, Natasha is opening the trapdoor, and she is with Steve.”

 

“Whatever,” Tony says, reaching through a network of misguided trails.  “What are you hiding?” he murmurs, leaning forward as he continues to hack his way through, discarding the distractions and plunging forward.

 

“What the hell?” Steve’s voice echoes suddenly.

 

“No,” Tony says, his fingers stilling.

 

“Tony—all this time?” Steve asks, coming forward into the makeshift lab.

 

Tony just shakes his head, unable to respond, stuck staring at the files coming up in quick succession on his screen.  Natasha frowns, coming over as Clint climbs down the ladder.  “What is that?” she asks, stopping at Tony’s side.

 

Steve watches them, brow furrowed.  There’s something wrong about the set of Tony’s shoulder.  Tony shakes his head, just staring.  “It can’t be.”

 

“Sir!” Jarvis yells, and then a series of alarms start going off.

 

“Go!” Tony shouts, glancing back at Natasha before he dives back in.  She runs over to her station, Clint following her, and they quickly boot up and plug in.  Steve stands there in the middle of it all, watching as they type furiously, and, for the first time in his life, he watches Tony _lead_.

 

“Esta es una zona de no Inglés.  Estamos bajo ataque, **(This is a no English zone.  We are under attack.)** ” he says, and it’s the only thing Steve understands because then Tony is fluidly switching between different dialects of Spanish, a rusty version of Russian, very briefly French, a single sentence in Latvian, which Steve thinks is just meant for Jarvis.

 

And though Steve can’t understand it, he does understand that Tony is giving orders, is directing Natasha and Clint through different obstacles and sending their skills in various places until, after an abrupt burst of silence, Natasha says, “ _Shit_.”

 

“No, no, no,” Tony chants, “Jay, заставить нас отсюда. **(get us out of here)** ”

 

“Sir, sistēma apdraudēta. **(system compromised)** ”

 

“No!” Tony screams, fingers slamming against the keys, but then the monitors flicker out, the power is killed, and they’re doused in blackness for a few moments before Jarvis pulls up the emergency power.

 

“What happened?” Steve asks, keeping his voice low because he’s afraid.

 

“Fury was trying to stop them,” Natasha says, looking over at Tony.

 

“Fury’s dead,” Tony admits, and it’s the catalyst.

 

Steve starts shouting, demanding answers, Clint jerks to his feet, trying to yell over Steve, Natasha tries to silence them both, and Tony just sits there.

 

Clint falls quiet as Natasha storms across the room, making a beeline for Steve.  When she reaches him, she grabs both his arms, yanking him to her attention, and he goes still and silent, staring down at her.  “Let him talk,” she says, and, though it takes a moment, he nods, one, quick jerk of the head.

 

“Talk,” he says, glaring at Tony.

 

Tony continues to stare at the screen until Jarvis makes a noise like clearing his throat, and then he turns and lays it out, “Fury had detected a mole in SHIELD.  He was trying to discover who it was when he stumbled upon a hidden sector.  There was an entire ghost drive of agents plotting with Magneto and his forces to take down SHIELD and to raise something else entirely in its place.  They chose Magneto because he has the largest following, most of whom are currently free and untracked by SHIELD.  Mystique infiltrated SHIELD, impersonating each of us, to turn those who were not in league with the rogue agents against us.  Fury knew all of this, but he was still putting the last of the pieces together.  I’ve been in contact with him a handful of times.  I didn’t know any of this until five minutes ago, before we were attacked, and—and now—” he breaks off, gaze shifting to Natasha.

 

“And now they know where we are,” she says.

 

“What?”  Steve looks back at her, fear flooding through him.  “How?”

 

“They were waiting for me to find the files.  They had implanted a virus.  The second I opened it,” Tony trails off, shaking his head.

 

Silence settles over them.

 

Steve shakes his head.  “We can still avenge him.  We have to go.  Now.”

 

——

 

“Tony, get _up_ ,” Steve says, slapping his blanketed ass as he passes by the bed and continues on into the bathroom.  Tony whines from beneath the comforter, and Steve just laughs, going over to the vanity to double check that his hair is still in place.

 

“You look _fine_ ,” Tony grumbles, kicking at the blankets.

 

Steve sighs and comes back into the bedroom, pulling them off and leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek.  “Get out of bed, and get ready, love,” he whispers.  Tony hums, turning his head so Steve will kiss him on the mouth.  They linger, drawing it out until Steve pulls back with a laugh, cradling Tony’s jaw in his big hands.  “We’re going to be late.”

 

“I’m always fashionably late,” Tony says happily, so Steve just shakes his head, kisses him again, and disappears.

 

In the five months since they fled Cuba and returned to New York, more than Tony ever expected has happened.  When they first got back to New York, they’d done so as quietly as possible, and they’d gotten halfway to SHIELD headquarters when they were detained by Maria Hill, who’d gone into hiding via Fury’s orders.  She arrested them under the pretense of detaining them, and then, once finally at SHIELD, brought them to a lower level, and they began strategizing with the few agents she’d been able to discover that were still on their side.  And thus had begun a political war that lasted for a full four weeks until, finally, the citizens of New York were revolting against SHIELD.  In the four months since then, they’ve slowly been rebuilding SHIELD, bringing it back to its original purpose, and now, Tony cannot truly believe that he’s standing here, in the most handsome—and expensive—tuxedo that he owns.

 

Steve comes back in, smiling when he sees Tony fiddling with his bowtie.  “Thank you for wearing the normal one,” Steve says.

 

Tony huffs at him.  “ _Normal_ ,” he scoffs, “Boring, you mean.  I—” but then he’s turning around, and his breath catches at the sight of Steve, in his dress blues with his blonde hair parted, and he can’t help the wide beam that forms when Steve steps in close and fixes his bowtie.

 

“Stop playing with it,” he says, hands coming out to smooth over this shoulders and then down the lapels of his jacket.  “You look wonderful.”  He lifts his gaze, his smile fond and soft.

 

“I think you should kiss me,” Tony says, so Steve does.

 

It’s an interesting night.  Tony is nervous, which is something Steve has never experienced before.  Natasha and Clint are already there when they arrive, as is much of SHIELD, and they stand closely, Clint’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist.  Steve smiles when he sees his thumb brush over her stomach.  They haven’t told anyone beside Steve and Tony, but Natasha is three months pregnant, and, in two months, they’ll be stepping away from SHIELD for a two-year period.

 

Rhodes is there, as well, in his dress blues.  He teases Tony until they’re all laughing, and then they’re promising to catch up with them later when they spot Pepper.  She smiles like she knows something they don’t, and though they press her, she just taps Tony’s nose and walks off to go talk to Natasha and Clint.

 

In the end, the ceremony goes fairly smoothly.  Rhodes gives a small speech about the progression of SHIELD and its new direction.  He presents Steve, using his new title as Commandeer, which not many outside of the inner circle of agents Tony has accumulated have heard yet, and so there’s a slight murmur as he stands.

 

When he reaches the podium, he takes a moment to let his gaze settle on Tony, and then he smiles, and begins, “Working with SHIELD has been chaotic since the day I woke from the ice.  It never felt quite right until the Avengers came together, until we learned to be a team and trust in one another.  And then, it became obvious that what had brought us together would not be what kept us together.  I stand here before you, both because of Nick Fury and because of my team.  Director Fury brought six individuals together that might never have looked at one another otherwise, and now, almost three years since I was first introduced to the Avengers, we are here to honor his undying dedication to SHIELD and to the safety and protection of the people of Earth and all other realms.  We are here to continue the journey of SHIELD in a progressive direction,” he pauses, looking down at his hands briefly.  This is the first time they will speak about Cuba publicly, and there’s still a dull ache inside of him whenever he thinks of their time there.  “In our time in Cuba,” Steve begins again, looking back up, “it became clear to me that not a single one of us had grown as a team to follow one another.  Each of the members of the Avengers are leaders in their own right, and now, it is my absolute honor to present to you, our new Director, Tony Stark.  He is someone I have come to admire and respect over the years, and his tireless work over the past five months in rebuilding SHIELD until its integrity and purpose were restored has been a godsend to all of us.  I am confident that he will lead us strongly into the future, and I look forward to the new direction that he will take SHIELD as we continue forward.  Ladies and gentlemen, Director Stark.”

 

The room erupts in a vivacious round of applause as Tony stands, grinning, his blue gaze fixed on Steve’s, who just smiles and steps aside, holding out a hand.  Tony crosses the room, taking the stairs up onto the stage, and, when he reaches Steve, he shakes hands with him, mutters, “asshole,” and smiles when Steve laughs before he goes to stand at the podium.

 

Tony’s speech, while longer than Steve’s, is short, and though he desperately wants to be snarky, he reminds himself that he is in a professional environment, as the Director of SHIELD, and so he swallows it down and gives a speech that Steve is left feeling overwhelmed with pride.

 

The rest of the night is fun, full of laughter, storytelling, dancing, and though they’re surrounded by agents, Steve and Tony don’t hide their soft touches, on elbows and backs and hands, and no one says a word about it because they all know.  They’re both done with hiding, with trying to contain their love, and so they’ve come back to SHIELD as a couple openly.

 

It’s not too late when they finally retire, around eleven o’clock, though they spend some time with pleasantries before they’re taking one of Tony’s cars back to the Tower.  They chat about the night on the way back, and, when they get into the elevator, Tony is yawning and stretching.  He taps Steve’s chest, leans back against the elevator wall, and says, “You free tomorrow night, soldier?”

 

“Depends,” Steve quips, smiling, “Is your first day as Director going to be a busy one?”

 

“Hell no,” Tony laughs, straightening and shaking his head as the door slides open on their floor, “As Director, I reserve the right to be as lazy as is physically possible.  Woah, what smells good?” he adds as he opens the door to their floor, stepping inside.

 

He stops immediately, his breath catching.  Steve comes in behind him, laying a hand at the small of Tony’s back as he follows his gaze, frowning.

 

The door slides shut behind them.  In the kitchen, Bruce turns away from the stove.

 

“Hey,” he says, shrugging one shoulder.  He looks _healthy_ , his clothes not as loose as they usually are, his skin dark from the sun but his jaw free of his Cuban beard, his curls trimmed neatly, and his smile soft.

 

“Tony,” Steve whispers, and the second that Steve moves, Tony is going with him.  They close the distance quickly, crushing Bruce to them in a tight, suffocating hug.  Bruce lets out this little, broken laugh and sinks into them, closing his eyes.

 

“Bruce,” Tony and Steve say at the same time, this exhalation of relief.

 

They slowly part, and there’s this heavy silence that speaks volumes, all of the questions sliding into one as Tony asks, “Are you—”

 

Bruce’s smile grows until his eyes crinkle a little, and he says, “I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to each and every one of you that commented on this. It’s been quite the journey writing this, and I’m so pleased that so many of you enjoyed it.
> 
> I would like to direct your attention now to something that I’ve been writing for the last three weeks and something I’ve been talking a lot about recently. Here is the link for the first chapter of my [superhusbands college au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1352740), which is one of the most tumultuous and beautiful journey I have ever embarked upon, and I am out of my mind excited to finally share it. Enjoy, and thank you so much for reading, both this, and if you do, that. Don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


End file.
